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Ramona. 




A STORY. 

’ . ^ 



By HELEN JACKSON 
(H. H.), 

Author of “Verses,” “Bits of Travel,” “Bits of Travel at Home,” 
“ Bits of Talk about Home Matters.” etc 



\ 




TZ.3 


.TmsX 

3 


Copyright , 1884, 

By Roberts Brothers. 




E££3 

«V. JULIUS w. ATWOOD 

JUNE S. ISAS 



ffambrtljge : 

JOHN WILSON AND SON, UNIVERSITY PRESS. 


RAMONA. 


i. 

I T was sheep-shearing time in Southern California ; 

but sheep-shearing was late at the Senora Moreno’s. 
The Fates had seemed to combine to put it off. In 
the first place, Felipe Moreno had been ill. He was 
the Senora’ s eldest son, and since his father’s death 
had been at the head of his mother’s house. With- 
out him, nothing could be done on the ranch, the 
Senora thought. It had been always, “ Ask Senor 
Felipe,” “ Go to Senor Felipe,” “ Senor Felipe will 
attend to it,” ever since Felipe had had the dawning 
of a beard on his handsome face. 

In truth, it was not Felipe, but the Senora, who 
really decided all questions from greatest to least, 
and managed everything on the place, from the sheep- 
pastures to the artichoke-patch ; but nobody except 
the Senora herself knew this. An exceedingly clever 
woman for her day and generation was Senora Gon- 
zaga Moreno, — as for that matter, exceedingly clever 
for any day and generation ; but exceptionally clever 
for ‘the day and generation to which she belonged. 
Her life, the mere surface of it, if it had been written, 
would have made a romance, to grow hot and cold 
over : sixty years of the best of old Spain and the 
wildest of Hew Spain, Bay of Biscay, Gulf of Mexico, 

1 


2 


RAMONA. 


Pacific Ocean, — the waves of them all had tossed 
destinies for the Senora. The Holy Catholic Church 
had had its arms round her from first to last ; and 
that was what had brought her safe through, she 
would have said, if she had ever said anything about 
herself, which she never did, — one of her many wis- 
doms. So quiet, so reserved, so gentle an exterior 
never was known to veil such an imperious and pas- 
sionate nature, brimful of storm, always passing 
through stress ; never thwarted, except at peril of 
those who did it ; adored and hated by turns, and 
each at the hottest. A tremendous force, wherever 
she appeared, was Senora Moreno ; but no stranger 
would suspect it, to see her gliding about, in her 
scanty black gown, with her rosary hanging at her 
side, her soft dark eyes cast down, and an expression 
of mingled melancholy and .devotion on her face. 
She looked simply like a sad, spiritual-minded old 
lady, amiable and indolent, like her race, but sweeter 
and more thoughtful than their wont. Her voice 
heightened this mistaken impression. She was never 
heard to speak either loud or fast. There was at times 
even a curious hesitancy in her speech, which came 
near being a stammer, or suggested the measured 
care with which people speak who have been cured 
of stammering. It made her often appear as if she 
did not know her own mind : at which people some- 
times took heart ; when, if they had only known the 
truth, they would have known that the speech hesi- 
tated solely because the Senora knew her mind so 
exactly that she was finding it hard to make the 
words convey it as she desired, or in a way to best 
attain her ends. 

About this very sheep-shearing there had been, 
between her and the head shepherd, Juan Canito, 
called Juan Can for short, and to distinguish him 
from Juan Jose, the upper herdsman of the cattle, 


RAMONA. 3 

some discussions which would have been hot and 
angry ones in any other hands than the Senora’s. 

Juan Canito wanted the shearing to begin, even 
though Senor Felipe were ill in bed, and though that 
lazy shepherd Luigo had not yet got back with the 
flock that had been driven up the coast for pasture. 
“ There were plenty of sheep on the place to begin 
with,” he said one morning, -—‘'at least a thousand 
and by the time they were done, Luigo would surely 
be back with the rest ; and as for Senor Felipe’s be- 
ing in bed, had not he, Juan Canito, stood at the 
packing-bag, and handled the wool, when Senor 
Felipe was a boy ? Why could he not do it again ? 
The Senora did not realize how time was going ; 
there would be no shearers to be hired presently, since 
the Senora was determined to have none but Indians. 
Of course, if she would employ Mexicans, as all the 
other ranches in the valley did, it would be different ; 
but she was resolved upon having Indians, — “ God 
knows why,” he interpolated surlily, under his breath. 

“I do not quite understand you, Juan,” interrupted 
Senora Moreno at the precise instant the last syllable 
of this disrespectful ejaculation had escaped Juan’s 
lips ; “ speak a little louder. I fear I am growing deaf 
in my old age.” 

What gentle, suave, courteous tones ! and the calm 
dark eyes rested on Juan Canito with a look to the 
fathoming of which he was as unequal as one of his 
own sheep would have been. He could not have told 
why he instantly and involuntarily said, “ Beg your 
pardon, Senora.” 

“ Oh, you need not ask my pardon, Juan,” the Senora 
replied with exquisite gentleness; “it is not you who 
are to blame, if I am deaf. I have fancied for a year 
I did not hear quite as well as I once did. But about 
the Indians, Juan ; did not Senor Felipe tell you that 
he had positively engaged the same band of shearers 


4 


RAMONA. 


we had last autumn, Alessandro’s band from Temec- 
ula ? They will wait until we are ready for them. 
Senor Felipe will send a messenger for them. He 
thinks them the best shearers in the country. He 
will be well enough in a week or two, he thinks, and 
the poor sheep must bear their loads a few days 
longer. Are they looking well, do you think, Juan ? 
Will the crop be a good one ? General Moreno used 
to say that you could reckon up the wool-crop to a 
pound, while it was on the sheep’s backs.” 

“Yes, Senora,” answered the mollified Juan; “the 
poor beasts look wonderfully well considering the 
scant feed they have had all winter. We ’ll not come 
many pounds short of our last year’s crop, if any. 
Though, to be sure, there is no telling in what case 
that — Luigo will bring his flock back.” 

The Senora smiled, in spite of herself, at the pause 
and gulp with which Juan had filled in the hiatus 
where he had longed to set a contemptuous epithet 
before Luigo’s name. 

This was another of the instances where the Senora’s 
will and Juan Canito’s had clashed and he did not 
dream of it, having set it all down as usual to the 
score of young Senor Felipe. 

Encouraged by the Senora’s smile, Juan proceeded : 
“ Senor Felipe can see no fault in Luigo, because they 
were boys together; but I can tell him, he will rue it, 
one of these mornings, when he finds a flock of sheep 
worse than dead on his hands, and no thanks to any- 
body but Luigo. While I can have him under my 
eye, here in the valley, it is all very well ; but he is 
no more fit to take responsibility of a flock, than one 
of the very lambs themselves. He’ll drive them off 
their feet one day, and starve them the next ; and 
I ’ve known him to forget to give them water. When 
he ’s in his dreams, the Virgin only knows what he 
won’t do.” 


RAMONA. 


5 


During this brief and almost unprecedented out- 
burst of Juan’s the Senora’s countenance bad been 
slowly growing stern. Juan had not seen it. His 
eyes had been turned away from her, looking down 
into the upturned eager face of his favorite colley, 
who was leaping and gambolling and barking at his 
feet. 

“ Down, Capitan, down ! ” he said in a fond tone, 
gently repulsing him ; “ thou makest such a noise 
the Senora can hear nothing but thy voice.” 

“ I heard only too distinctly, Juan Canito,” said 
the Senora in a sweet but icy tone. “ It is not well 
for one servant to backbite another. It gives me 
great grief to hear such words ; and I hope when 
Father Salvierderra comes, next month, you will not 
forget to confess this sin of which you have been 
guilty in thus seeking to injure a fellow-being. If 
Senor Felipe listens to you, the poor boy Luigo will 
be cast out homeless on the world some day ; and 
what sort of a deed would that be, Juan Canito, for 
one Christian to do to another ? I fear the Father 
will give you penance, when he hears what you have 
said.” 

“ Senora, it is not to harm the lad,” J uan began, 
every fibre of his faithful frame thrilling with a sense 
of the injustice of her reproach. 

But the Senora had turned her back. Evidently 
she would hear no more from him then. He stood 
watching her as she walked away, at her usual slow 
pace, her head slightly bent forward, her rosary lifted 
in her left hand, and the fingers of the right hand me- 
chanically slipping the beads. 

“ Prayers, always prayers !” thought Juan to him- 
self, as his eyes followed her. “ If they ’ll take one 
to heaven, the Senora ’ll go by the straight road, 
that ’s sure ! I ’m sorry I vexed her. But what ’s a 
man to do, if he ’s the interest of the place at heart. 


6 


RAMONA. 


I ’d like to know. Is he to stand by, and see a lot of 
idle mooning louts run away with everything ? Ah, 
but it was an ill day for the estate when the General 
died, — an ill day ! an ill day ! And they may scold 
me as much as they please, and set me to confessing 
my sins to the Father ; it ’s very well for them, 
they ’ve got me to look after matters. Sehor Felipe 
will do well enough when he ’s a man, maybe ; but 
a boy like him ! Bah ! ” And the old man stamped 
his foot with a not wholly unreasonable irritation, at 
the false position in which he felt himself put. 

“ Confess to Father Salvierderra, indeed 1 ” he mut- 
tered aloud. “Ay, that will I. He ’s a man of 
sense, if he is a priest,” — at which slip of the tongue 
the pious Juan hastily crossed himself, — “and I’ll 
ask him to give me some good advice as to how I ’m to 
manage between this young boy at the head of every- 
thing, and a doting mother who thinks he has the 
wisdom of a dozen grown men. The Father knew 
the place in the olden time. He knows it ’s no child’s 
play to look after the estate even now, much smaller 
as it is ! An ill day when the old General died, an 
ill day indeed, the saints rest his soul ! ” Saying this, 
Juan shrugged his shoulders, and whistling to Capi- 
tan, walked towards the sunny veranda of the south 
side of the kitchen wing of the house, where it had 
been for twenty odd years his habit to sit on the 
long bench and smoke his pipe of a morning. Before 
he had got half-way across the court-yard, however, 
a thought struck him. He halted so suddenly that 
Capitan, with the quick sensitiveness of his breed, 
thought so sudden a change of purpose could only 
come from something in connection with sheep ; and, 
true to his instinct of duty, pricked up his ears, poised 
himself for a full run, and looked up in his master’s 
face waiting for explanation and signal. But Juan 
did not observe him. 


RAMONA. 


7 

“Ha!” he said, “Father Salvierderra comes next 
month, does he ? Let ’s see. To-day is the 25th. 
That ’s it. The sheep-shearing is not to come off 
till the Father gets here. Then each morning it will 
be mass in the chapel, and each night vespers ; and 
the crowd will he here at least two days longer to 
feed, for the time they will lose by that and by the 
confessions. That ’s what Senor Felipe is up to. 
He ’s a pious lad. I recollect now, it was the same 
way two years ago. Well, well, it is a good thing for 
those poor Indian devils to get a bit of religion now 
and then ; and it ’s like old times to see the chapel 
full of them kneeling, and more than can get in at 
the door ; I doubt not it warms the Senora’s heart to 
see them all there, as if they belonged to the house, 
as they used to : and now I know when it ’s to be, I 
have only to make my arrangements accordingly. It 
is always in the first week of the month the Father 
gets here. Yes ; she said, ‘ Senor Felipe will be well 
enough in a week or two, he thinks.’ Ha ! ha ! It 
will be nearer two ; ten days or thereabouts. I ’ll 
begin the booths next week. A plague on that Luigo 
for not being back here. He ’s the best hand I have 
to cut the willow boughs for the roofs. He knows 
the difference between one year’s growth and an- 
other’s ; I ’ll say that much for him, spite of the silly 
dreaming head he ’s got on his shoulders.” 

Juan was so pleased with this clearing up in his 
mind as to Senor Felipe’s purpose about the time of 
the sheep-shearing, that it put him in good humor 
for the day, — good humor with everybody, and 
himself most of all. As he sat on the low bench, 
his head 'leaning back against the whitewashed wall, 
his long legs stretched out nearly across the whole 
width of the veranda, his pipe firm wedged in 
the extreme left corner of his mouth, his hands in 
his pockets, he was the picture of placid content. 


8 


RAMONA. 


The troop of youngsters which still* swarmed around 
the kitchen quarters of Senora Moreno’s house, al- 
most as numerous and inexplicable as in the grand 
old days of the General’s time, ran back and forth 
across Juan’s legs, fell down between them, and 
picked themselves up by help of clutches at his 
leather trousers, all unreproved by Juan, though 
loudly scolded and warned by their respective mothers 
from the kitchen. 

“ What’s come to Juan Can to be so good-natured 
to-day ? ” saucily asked Margarita, the youngest and 
prettiest of the maids, popping her head out of a 
window, and twitching Juan’s hair. He was so gray 
and wrinkled that the maids all felt at ease with 
him. He seemed to them as old as Methuselah ; but 
he was not really so old as they thought, nor they so 
safe in their tricks. The old man had hot blood in 
his veins yet, as the under-shepherds could testify. 

“ The sight of your pretty face, Senorita Margarita,” 
answered Juan quickly, cocking his eye at her, rising 
to his feet, and making a mock bow towards the 
window. 

“ He ! he ! Senorita, indeed ! ” chuckled Margarita’s 
mother, old Marda the cook. “ Senor Juan Canito is 
pleased to be merry at the doors of his betters ; ” and 
she flung a copper saucepan full of not over-clean 
water so deftly past Juan’s head, that not a drop 
touched him, and yet he had the appearance of hav- 
ing been ducked. At which bit of sleigh t-of-band 
the whole court-yard, jmung and old, babies, cocks, 
hens, and turkeys, all set up a shout and a cackle, and 
dispersed to the four corners of the yard as if scat- 
tered by a volley of bird- shot. Hearing the racket, 
the rest of the maids came running, — Anita and 
Maria, the twins, women forty years old, born on the 
place the year after General Moreno brought home 
his handsome young bride ; their two daughters, 


RAMONA. 


9 


Eosa and Anita tlie Little, as she was still called, 
though she outweighed her mother; old Juanita, the 
oldest woman in the household, of whom even the 
Senora was said not to know the exact age or history ; 
and she, poor thing, could tell nothing, having been 
silly for ten years or more, good for nothing except 
to shell beans : that she did as fast and well as ever, 
and was never happy except she was at it. Luckily 
for her, beans are the one crop never omitted or 
stinted on a Mexican estate ; and for sake of old Jua- 
nita they stored every year in the Moreno house, rooms 
full of beans in the pod (tons of them, one would 
think), enough to feed an army. But then, it was 
like a little army even now, the Senora’s household ; 
nobody ever knew exactly how many women were in 
the kitchen, or how many men in the fields. There 
were always women cousins, or brother’s wives or 
widows or daughters, who had come to stay, or men 
cousins, or sister’s husbands or sons, who were stop- 
ping on their way up or down the valley. When- it 
came to the pay-roll, Senor Felipe knew to whom he 
paid wages ; but who were fed and lodged under his 
roof, that was quite another thing. It could not enter 
into the head of a Mexican gentleman to make either 
count or account of that. It would be a disgraceful 
niggardly thought. 

To the Senora it seemed as if there were no longer 
any people about the place. A beggarly handful, she 
would have said, hardly enough to do the work of the 
house, or of the estate, sadly as the latter had dwindled. 
In the General’s day, it had been a free-handed boast 
of his that never less than fifty persons, men, women 
and children, were fed within his gates each day ; how 
many more, he did not care, nor know. But that time 
had indeed gone, gone forever ; and though a stranger, 
seeing the sudden rush and muster at door and win- 
dow, which followed on old Marda’s letting fly the 


10 


RAMONA. 


water at Juan’s head, would have thought, “ Good 
heavens, do all those • women, children, and babies 
belong in that one house ! ” the Senora’s sole thought, 
as she at that moment went past the gate, was, “ Poor 
things ! how few there are left of them ! I am afraid 
old °Marda has to work too hard. I must spare 
Margarita more from the house to help her. And 
she sighed deeply, and unconsciously held her rosary 
nearer to her heart, as she went into the house and 
entered her son’s bedroom. The picture she saw 
there was one to thrill any mother’s heart; and as 
it met her eye, she paused on the threshold for a 
second, — only a second, however ; and nothing could 
have astonished Felipe Moreno so much as to have 
been told that at the very moment when his mother’s 
calm voice was saying to him, “ Good morning, my 
son, I hope you have slept well, and are better,” 
there was welling up in her heart a passionate ejacu- 
lation, “ 0 my glorious son ! The saints have sent me 
in him the face of his father! He is fit for a king- 
dom ! ” 

The truth is, Felipe Moreno was not fit for a king- 
dom at all. If he had been, he would not have been 
so ruled by his mother without ever finding it out. 
But so far as mere physical beauty goes, there never 
was a king born, whose face, stature, and bearing 
would set off a crown or a throne, or any of the things 
of which the outside of royalty is made up, better 
than would Felipe Moreno’s. And it was true, as the 
Senora said, whether the saints had anything to do 
with it or not, that he had the face of his father. So 
strong a likeness is seldom seen. When Felipe once, on 
the occasion of a grand celebration and procession, put 
on the gold-wrought velvet mantle, gayly embroidered 
short breeches fastened at the knee with red ribbons, 
and gold-and-silver-trimmed sombrero, which his fa- 
ther had worn twenty-five years before, the Senora 


RAMONA. 


11 


fainted at her first look at him, — fainted and fell ; and 
when she opened her eyes, and saw the same splendid, 
gayly arrayed, dark-bearded man, bending over her 
in distress, with words of endearment and alarm, she 
fainted again. 

“ Mother, mother mia,” cried Felipe, “ I will not 
wear them if it makes you feel like this ! Let me 
take them off. I will not go to their cursed parade ; ” 
and he sprang to his feet, and began with trembling 
fingers to unbuckle the sword-belt. 

“No, no, Felipe,” faintly cried the Senora, from the 
ground. “ It is my wish that you wear them ; ” and 
staggering to her feet, with a burst of tears, she re- 
buckled the old sword-belt, which her fingers had so 
many times — never unkissed — buckled, in the days 
when her husband had bade her farewell and gone 
forth to the uncertain fates of war. “ Wear them ! ” 
she cried, with gathering fire in her tones, and her 
eyes dry of tears, — “ wear them, and let the Ameri- 
can hounds see what a Mexican officer and gentleman 
looked like before they had set their base, usurping 
feet on our necks ! ” And she followed him to the 
gate, and stood erect, bravely waving her handker- 
chief as he galloped off, till he was out of sight. 
Then with a changed face and a bent head she crept 
slowly to her room, locked herself in, fell on her knees 
before the Madonna at the head of her bed, and spent 
the greater part of the day praying that she might 
be forgiven, and that all heretics might be discom- 
fited. From which part of these supplications she 
derived most comfort is easy to imagine. 

Juan Canito had been right in his sudden surmise 
that it was for Father Salvierderra’s coming that the 
sheep-shearing was being delayed, and not in conse- 
quence of Senor Felipe’s illness, or by the non-appear- 
ance of Luigo and his flock of sheep. Juan would 
have chuckled to himself still more at his perspicacity, 


12 


RAMONA. 


had he overheard the conversation going on between 
the Senora and her son, at the very time when he, 
half asleep on the veranda, was, as he would have 
called it, putting two and two together and convin- 
cing himself that old Juan was as smart as they were, 
and not to be kept in the dark by all their reticence 
and equivocation. 

“Juan Can is growing very impatient about the 
sh6ep-shearing,” said the Senora. “ I suppose you are 
still of the same mind about it, Felipe, — that it is 
better to wait till Father Salvierderra comes ? As the 
only chance those Indians have of seeing him is here, 
it would seem a Christian duty to so arrange it, if it 
be possible; but Juan is very restive. He. is getting 
old, and chafes a little, I fancy, under your control. 
He cannot forget that you were a boy on his knee. 
Now I, for my part, am like to forget that you were 
ever anything but a man for me to lean on.” 

Felipe turned his handsome face toward his 
mother with a beaming smile of filial affection and 
gratified manly vanity. “ Indeed, my mother, if I 
can be sufficient for you to lean on, I will ask noth- 
ing more of the saints;” and he took his mother’s thin 
and wasted little hands, both at once, in his own 
strong right hand, and carried them to his lips as a 
lover might have done. “ You will spoil me, mother,” 
he said, “ you make me so proud.” 

“No, Felipe, it is I who am proud,” promptly re- 
plied the mother ; “ and I do not call it being proud, 
only grateful to God for having given me a son wise 
enough to take his father’s place, and guide and pro- 
tect me through the few remaining years I have to 
live. I shall die content, seeing you at the head of 
the estate, and living as a Mexican gentleman should ; 
that is, so far as now remains possible in this unfortu- 
nate country. But about the sheep-shearing, Felipe. 
Do you wish to have it begun before the Father is 


RAMONA. 


13 


here ? Of course, Alessandro is all ready with his 
band. It is but two days’ journey for a messenger 
to bring him. Father Salvierderra cannot be here 
before the 10th of the month. He leaves Santa 
Barbara on the 1st, and he will walk all the way, — a 
good six days’ journey, for he is old now and feeble ; 
then he must stop in Ventura for a Sunday, and a day 
at the Ortega’s ranch, and at the Lopez’s, — there, 
there is a- christening. Yes, the 10th is the very 
earliest that he can be here, — near two weeks from 
now. So far as your getting up is concerned, it 
might perhaps be next week. You will be nearly 
well by that time.” 

“ Yes indeed,” laughed Felipe, stretching himself 
out in the bed and giving a kick to the bedclothes 
that made the high bedposts and the fringed canopy 
roof shake and creak ; “ I am well now, if it were 
not for this cursed weakness when I stand on my feet. 
I believe it would do me good to get out of doors.” 

In truth, Felipe had been hankering for the sheep- 
shearing himself. It was a brisk, busy, holiday sort 
of time to him, hard as he worked in it; and two 
weeks looked long to wait. 

“ It is always thus after a fever,” said his mother. 
"The weakness lasts many weeks. I am not sure 
that you will be strong enough even in two weeks to 
do the packing ; but, as J uan Can said this morning, 
he stood at the packing-bag when you were a boy, 
and there was no need of waiting for you for that ! ” 

"He said that, did he!” exclaimed Felipe, wrath- 
fully. " The old man is getting insolent. I ’ll tell 
him that nobody will pack the sacks but myself, 
while I am master here ; and I will have the sheep- 
shearing when I please, and not before.” 

" I suppose it would not be wise to say that it 
is not to take place till the Father comes, would it ? ” 
asked the Senora, hesitatingly, as if the thing were 


14 


RAMONA. 


evenly balanced in her mind. “The Father has not 
that hold on the younger men he used to have, and 
I have thought that even in Juan himself I have de- 
tected a remissness. The spirit of unbelief is spread- 
ing in the country since the Americans are running 
up and down everywhere seeking money, like dogs 
with their noses to the ground ! It might vex Juan 
if he knew that you were waiting only for the Father. 
What do you think ? ” 

“ I think it is enough for him to know that the 
sheep-shearing waits for my pleasure,” answered 
Felipe, still wrathful, “and that is the end of it.” 
And so it was; and, moreover, precisely the end 
which Senora Moreno had had in her own mind from 
the beginning ; but not even Juan Canito himself 
suspected its being solely her purpose, and not her 
son’s. As for Felipe, if any person had suggested to 
him that it was his mother, and not he, who had de- 
cided that the sheep-shearing would better be deferred 
until the arrival of Father Salvierderra from Santa 
Barbara, and that nothing should be said on the 
ranch about this being the real reason of the post- 
poning, Felipe would have stared in astonishment, 
and have thought that person either crazy or a fool. 

To attain one’s ends in this way is the consum- 
mate triumph of art. Never to appear as a factor in 
the situation ; to be able to wield other men, as in- 
struments, with the same direct and implicit response 
to will that one gets from a hand or a foot, — this is 
to triumph, indeed : to be as nearly controller and 
conqueror of Fates as fate permits. There have been 
men prominent in the world’s affairs at one time and 
another, who have sought and studied such a power 
and have acquired it to a great degree. By it they 
have manipulated legislators, ambassadors, sover- 
eigns ; and have grasped, held, and played with the 
destinies of empires. But it is to be questioned 


RAMONA. 


15 


whether even in these notable instances there has 
ever been so marvellous completeness of success as is 
sometimes seen in the case of a woman in whom the 
power is an instinct and not an attainment ; a pas- 
sion rather than a purpose. Between the two results, 
between the two processes, there is just that differ- 
ence which is always to be seen between the stroke 
of talent and the stroke of genius. 

Sehora Moreno’s was the stroke of genius. 


II. 


HE Senora Moreno’s house was one of the best 



specimens to be found in California of the rep- 
resentative house of the half barbaric, half elegant, 
wholly generous and free-handed life led there by 
Mexican men and women of degree in the early part 
of this century, under the rule of the Spanish and 
Mexican viceroys, when the laws of the Indies 
were still the law of the land, and its old name, 
“ New Spain,” was an ever-present link and stimulus 
to the warmest memories and deepest patriotisms of 
its people. 

It was a picturesque life, with more of sentiment 
and gayety in it, more also that was truly dramatic, 
more romance, than will ever be seen again on those 
sunny shores. The aroma of it all lingers there still ; 
industries and inventions have not yet slain it; it 
will last out its century, — in fact, it can never be 
quite lost, so long as there is left standing one such 
house as the Senora Moreno’s. 

When the house was built, General Moreno owned 
all the land within a radius of forty miles, — forty 
miles westward, down the valley to the sea; forty 
miles eastward, into the San Fernando Mountains ; 
and good forty miles more or less along the coast. 
The boundaries were not very strictly defined ; there 
was no occasion, in those happy days, to reckon land 
by inches. It might be asked, perhaps, just how 
General Moreno owned all this land, and the question 
might not be easy to answer. It was not and could 
not be answered to the satisfaction of the United 


RAMONA. 


17 


States Land Commission, which, after the surrender of 
California, undertook to sift and adjust Mexican land- 
titles ; and that was the way it had come about that 
the Senora Moreno now called herself a poor woman. 
Tract after tract, her lands had been taken away 
from her ; it looked for a time as if nothing would 
be left. Every one of the claims based on deeds of 
gift from Governor Pio Pico, her husband’s most 
intimate friend, was disallowed. They all went by 
the hoard in one batch, and took away from the 
Senora in a day the greater part of her best pasture- 
lands. They were lands which had belonged to the 
Bonaventura Mission, and lay along the coast at the 
mouth of the valley down which the little stream 
which ran past her house went to the sea; and it 
had been a great pride and delight to the Senora, when 
she was young, to ride that forty miles by her hus- 
band’s side, all the way on their own lands, straight 
from their house to their own strip of shore. No 
wonder she believed the Americans thieves, and spoke 
of them always as hounds. The people of the United 
States have never in the least realized that the tak- 
ing possession of California was not only a conquer- 
ing of Mexico, but a conquering of California as well ; 
that the real bitterness of the surrender was not so 
much to the empire which gave up the country, as to 
the country itself which was given up. Provinces 
passed back and forth in that way, helpless in the 
hands of great powers, have all the ignominy and 
humiliation of defeat, with none of the dignities or 
compensations of the transaction. 

Mexico saved much by her treaty, spite of having 
to acknowledge herself beaten ; but California lost 
all. Words cannot tell the sting of such a transfer. 
It is a marvel that a Mexican remained in the coun- 
try ; probably none did, except those who were abso- 
lutely forced to it. 


2 


18 


RAMONA. 


Luckily for the Senora Moreno, her title to the lands 
midway in the valley was better than to those lying 
to the east and the west, which had once belonged to 
the missions of San Fernando and Bona ventura ; and 
after all the claims, counter-claims, petitions, appeals, 
and adjudications were ended, she still was left in un- 
disputed possession of what would have been thought 
by any new-comer into the country to be a handsome 
estate, but which seemed to the despoiled and indig- 
nant Senora a pitiful fragment of one. Moreover, she 
declared that she should never feel secure of a foot of 
even this. Any day, she said, the United States Gov- 
ernment might send out a new Land Commission to 
examine the decrees of the first, and revoke such as 
they saw fit. Once a thief, always a thief. Nobody 
need feel himself safe under American rule. There 
was no knowing what might happen any day ; and 
year by year the lines of sadness, resentment, anxiety, 
and antagonism deepened on the Senora’s fast aging 
face. 

It gave her unspeakable satisfaction, when the 
Commissioners, laying out a road down the valley, ran 
it at the back of her house instead of past the front. 
“ It is well,” she said. “ Let their travel be where it 
belongs, behind our kitchens ; and no one have sight 
of the front doors of our houses, except friends who 
have come to visit us.” Her enjoyment of this never 
flagged. Whenever she saw, passing the place, wag- 
ons or carriages belonging to the hated Americans, it 
gave her a distinct thrill of pleasure to think that 
the house turned its back on them. She would like 
always to be able to do the same herself ; but what- 
ever she, by policy or in business, might be forced to 
do, the old house, at any rate, would always keep the 
attitude of contempt, — its face turned away. 

One other pleasure she provided herself with, soon 
after this road was opened, — a pleasure in which 


RAMONA. 


19 


religious devotion and race antagonism were so closely 
blended that it would have puzzled the subtlest of 
priests to decide whether her act were a sin or a 
virtue. She caused to be set up, upon every one of 
the soft rounded hills which made the beautiful rolling 
sides of that part of the valley, a large wooden cross ; 
not a hill in sight of her house left without the sacred 
emblem of her faith. “ That the heretics may know, 
when they go by, that they are on the estate of a 
good Catholic,” she said, “ and that the faithful may 
be reminded to pray. There have been miracles of 
conversion wrought on the most hardened by a sud- 
den sight of the Blessed Cross.” 

There they stood, summer and winter, rain and 
shine, the silent, solemn, outstretched arms, and be- 
came landmarks to many a guideless traveller who 
had been told that his way would be by the first 
turn to the left or the right, after passing the last one 
of the Senora Moreno’s crosses, which he could n’t 
miss seeing. And who shall say that it did not often 
happen that the crosses bore a sudden message to 
some idle heart journeying by, and thus justified the 
pious half of the Senora’s impulse ? Certain it is, 
that many a good Catholic halted and crossed him- 
self when he first beheld them, in the lonely places, 
standing out in sudden relief against the blue sky; 
and if he said a swift short prayer at the sight, was 
he not so much the better ? 

The house- was of adobe, low, with a wide veran- 
da on the three sides of the inner court, and a still 
broader one across the entire front, which looked to 
the south. These verandas, especially those on the 
inner court, were supplementary rooms to the house. 
The greater part of the family life went on in them. 
Nobody stayed inside the walls, except when it was 
necessary. All the kitchen work, except the actual 
cooking, was done here, in front of the kitchen doors 


20 


RAMONA. 


and windows. Babies slept, were washed, sat in the 
dirt, and played, on the veranda. The women said 
their prayers, took their naps, and wove their lace 
there. Old Juanita shelled her beans there, and 
threw the pods down on the tile floor, till towards 
night they were sometimes piled up high around her, 
like corn-husks at a husking. The herdsmen and 
shepherds smoked there, lounged there, trained their 
dogs there ; there the young made love, and the old 
dozed ; the benches, which ran the entire length of 
the walls, were worn into hollows, and shone like 
satin ; the tiled floors also were broken and sunk in 
places, making little wells, which filled up in times 
of hard rains, and were then an invaluable addition 
to the children’s resources for amusement, and also to 
the comfort of the dogs, cats, and fowls, who picked 
about among them, taking sips from each. 

The arched veranda along the front was a delight- 
some place. It must have been eighty feet long, at 
least, for the doors of five large rooms opened on it. 
The two westernmost rooms had been added on, and 
made four steps higher than the others ; which gave 
to that end of the veranda the look of a balcony, or 
loggia. Here the Senora kept her flowers ; great red 
water-jars, hand-made by the Indians of San Luis 
Obispo Mission, stood in close rows against the walls, 
and in them were always growing fine geraniums, 
carnations, and yellow-flowered musk. The Senora’s 
passion for musk she had inherited from her mother. 
It was so strong that she sometimes wondered at it ; 
and one day, as she sat with Father Salvierderra in 
the veranda, she picked a handful of the blossoms, 
and giving them to him, said, “ I do not know why 
it is, but it seems to me if I were dead I could be 
brought to life by the smell of musk.” 

“ It is in your blood, Senora,” the old monk re- 
plied. “ When I was last in your father’s house in 


RAMONA. 


21 


Seville, your mother sent for me to her room, and 
under her window was a stone balcony full of grow- 
ing musk, which so filled the room with its odor that 
I was like to faint. But she said it cured her of dis- 
eases, and without it she fell ill. You were a baby 
then.” 

“ Yes,” cried the Senora, “ but I recollect that 
balcony. I recollect being lifted up to a window, 
and looking down into a bed of blooming yellow 
flowers ; but I did not know what they were. How 
strange ! ” 

“ No. Not strange, daughter,” replied Father Sal- 
vierderra. “ It would have been stranger if you had 
not acquired the taste, thus drawing it in with the 
mother’s milk. It would behoove mothers to remem- 
ber this far more than they do.” 

Besides the geraniums and carnations and musk 
in the red jars, there were many sorts of climbing 
vines, — some coming from the ground, and twining 
around the pillars of the veranda ; some growing in 
great bowls, swung by cords from the roof of the 
veranda, or set on shelves against the walls. These 
bowls were of gray stone, hollowed and polished, 
shining smooth inside and out. They also had been 
made by the Indians, nobody knew how many ages 
ago, scooped and polished by the patient creatures, 
with only stones for tools. 

Among these vines, singing from morning till night, 
hung the Senora’s canaries and finches, half a dozen 
of each, all of different generations, raised by the 
Senora. She was never without a young bird-family 
on hand; and all the way from Bonaventura to 
Monterey, it was thought a piece of good luck to 
come into possession of a canary or finch of Senora 
Moreno’s raising. 

Between the veranda and the river meadows, out 
on which it looked, all was garden, orange grove, and 


22 


RAMONA. 


almond orchard ; the orange grove always green, 
never without snowy bloom or golden fruit ; the 
garden never without flowers, summer or winter ; and 
the almond orchard, in early spring, a fluttering can- 
opy of pink and white petals, which, seen from the 
hills on the opposite side of the river, looked as if 
rosy sunrise clouds had fallen, and become tangled 
in the tree-tops. On either hand stretched away 
other orchards, — peach, apricot, pear, apple, pome- 
granate ; and beyond these, vineyards. Nothing was 
to be seen but verdure or bloom or fruit, at whatever 
time of year you sat on the Senora’ s south veranda. 

A wide straight walk shaded by a trellis so knotted 
and twisted with grapevines that little was to be 
seen of the trellis wood-work, led straight down from 
the veranda steps, through the middle of the garden, 
to a little brook at the foot of it. Across this brook, 
in the shade of a dozen gnarled old willow-trees, were 
set the broad -flat stone washboards on which was 
done all the family washing. No long dawdling, and 
no running away from work on the part of the maids, 
thus close to the eye of the Senora at the upper end of 
the garden ; and if they had known how picturesque 
they looked there, kneeling on the grass, lifting the 
dripping linen out of the water, rubbing it back and 
forth on the stones, sousing it, wringing it, splashing 
the clear water in each other’s faces, they would have 
been content to stay at the washing day in and day 
out, for there was always somebody to look on from 
above. Hardly a day passed that the Senora had not 
visitors. She was still a person of note ; her house 
the natural resting-place for all who journeyed through 
the valley ; and whoever came, spent all of his time, 
when not eating, sleeping, or walking over the place, 
sitting with the Senora on the sunny veranda. Few 
days in winter were cold enough, and in summer the 
day must be hot indeed to drive the Senora and her 


RAMONA. 


23 


friends indoors. There stood on the veranda three 
carved oaken chairs, and a carved bench, also of oak, 
which had been brought to the Sehora for safe keeping 
by the faithful old sacristan of San Luis Rey, at the 
time of the occupation of that Mission by the United 
States troops, soon after the conquest of California. 
Aghast at the sacrilegious acts of the soldiers, who 
were quartered in the very church itself, and amused 
themselves by making targets of the eyes and noses 
of the saints’ statues, the sacristan, stealthily, day by 
day and night after night, bore out of the church all 
that he dared to remove, burying some articles in 
cottonwood copses, hiding others in his own poor 
little hovel, until he had wagon-loads of sacred treas- 
ures. Then, still more stealthily, he carried them, a 
few at a time, concealed in the bottom of a cart, under 
a load of hay or of brush, to the house of the Seiiora, 
who felt herself deeply honored by his confidence, and 
received everything as a sacred trust, to be given back 
into the hands of the Church again, whenever the 
Missions should be restored, of which at that time all 
Catholics had good hope. And so it had come about 
that no bedroom in the Senora’s house was without 
a picture or a statue of a saint or of the Madonna ; 
and some had two ; and in the little chapel in the 
garden the altar was surrounded by a really imposing 
row of holy and apostolic figures, which had looked 
down on the splendid ceremonies of the San Luis Rey 
Mission, in Father Peyri’s time, no more benignly than 
they now did on the humbler worship of the Senora’s 
family in its diminished estate. That one had lost 
an eye, another an arm, that the once brilliant colors 
of the drapery were now faded and shabby, only en- 
hanced the tender reverence with which the Seiiora 
knelt before them, her eyes filling with indignant 
tears at thought of the heretic hands which had 
wrought such defilement. Even the crumbling 


24 


RAMONA. 


wreaths which had been placed on some of these 
statues’ heads at the time of the last ceremonial at 
which they had figured in the Mission, had been 
brought away with them by the devout sacristan, and 
the Senora had replaced each one, holding it only a 
degree less sacred than the statue itself. 

This chapel was dearer to the Senora than her 
house. It had been built by the General in the sec- 
ond year of their married life. In it her four children 
had been christened, and from it all but one, her hand- 
some Felipe, had been buried while they were yet 
infants. In the General’s time, while the estate was 
at its best, and hundreds of Indians living within its 
borders, there was many a Sunday when the scene to 
be witnessed there was like the scenes at the Missions, 
— the chapel full of kneeling men and women ; those 
who could not find room inside kneeling on the gar- 
den walks outside ; Father Salvierderra, in gorgeous 
vestments, coming, at close of the services, slowly 
down the aisle, the close-packed rows of worshippers 
parting to right and left to let him through, all look- 
ing up eagerly for his blessing, women giving him 
offerings of fruit or flowers, and holding up their 
babies that he might lay his hands on their heads. 
No one but Father Salvierderra had ever officiated in 
the Moreno chapel, or heard the confession of a Mo- 
reno. He was a Franciscan, one of the few now left 
in the country ; so revered and beloved by all who 
had come under his influence, that they would wait 
long months without the offices of the Church, rather 
than confess their sins or confide their perplexities to 
any one else. From this deep-seated attachment on 
the part of the Indians and the older Mexican families 
in the country to the Franciscan Order, there had 
grown up, not unnaturally, some jealousy of them in 
the minds of the later-come secular priests, and the 
position of the few monks left was not wholly a 


RAMONA. 


25 


pleasant one. It had even been rumored that they 
were to be forbidden to continue longer their practice 
of going up and down the country, ministering every- 
where ; were to be compelled to restrict their labors 
to their own colleges at Santa Barbara and Santa 
Inez. When something to this effect was one day 
said in the Senora Moreno’s presence, two scarlet 
spots sprang on her cheeks, and before she bethought 
herself, she exclaimed, “ That day, I burn down my 
chapel ! ” 

Luckily, nobody but Felipe heard the rash threat, 
and his exclamation of unbounded astonishment re- 
called the Senora to herself. 

“I spoke rashly, my son,” she said. “The Church 
is to be obeyed always ; but the Franciscan Fathers 
are responsible to no one but the Superior of their 
own order ; and there is no one in this land who has 
the authority to forbid their journeying and minister- 
ing to whoever desires their offices. As for these 
Catalan priests who are coming in here, I cannot 
abide them. No Catalan but has bad blood in his 
veins ! ” 

There was every reason in the world why the 
Senora should be thus warmly attached to the Fran- 
ciscan Order. From her earliest recollections the 
gray gown and cowl had been familiar to her eyes, 
and had represented the things which she was taught 
to hold most sacred and dear. Father Salvierderra 
himself had come from Mexico to Monterey in the 
same ship which had brought her father to be the 
commanclante of the Santa Barbara Presidio ; and her 
best-beloved uncle, her father’s eldest brother, was at 
that time the Superior of the Santa Barbara Mission. 
The sentiment and romance of her youth were almost 
equally divided between the gayeties, excitements, 
adornments of the life at the Presidio, and the 
ceremonies and devotions of the life at the Mission. 


26 


RAMONA. 


She was famed as the most beautiful girl in the coun- 
try. Men of the army, men of the navy, and men of 
the Church, alike adored her. Her name was a toast 
from Monterey to San Dijego. When at last she was 
wooed and won by Felipe Moreno, one of the most 
distinguished of the Mexican generals, her wedding 
ceremonies were the most splendid ever seen in the 
country. The right tower of the Mission church at 
Santa Barbara had been just completed, and it was 
arranged that the consecration of this tower should 
take place at the time of her wedding, and that her 
wedding feast should be spread in the long outside 
corridor of the Mission building. The whole country, 
far and near, was bid. The feast lasted three days ; 
open tables to everybody; singing, dancing, eating, 
drinking, and making merry. At that time there 
were long streets of Indian houses stretching east- 
ward from the Mission ; before each of these houses 
was built a booth of green boughs. The Indians, as 
well as the Fathers from all the other Missions, were 
invited to come. The Indians came in bands, sing- 
ing songs and bringing gifts. As they appeared, the 
Santa Barbara Indians went out to meet them, also 
singing, bearing gifts, and strewing seeds on the 
ground, in token of welcome. The young Senora and 
her bridegroom, splendidly clothed, were seen of all, 
and greeted, whenever they appeared, by showers of 
seeds and grains and blossoms. On the third day, 
still in their wedding attire, a.nd bearing lighted 
candles in their hands, they walked with the monks 
in a procession, round and round the new tower, the 
monks chanting, and sprinkling incense and holy 
water on its walls, the ceremony seeming to all devout 
beholders to give a blessed consecration to the union 
of the young pair as well as to the newly completed 
tower. After this they journeyed in state, accom- 
panied by several of the General’s aids and officers, 


RAMONA . 


27 


and by two Franciscan Fathers, up to Monterey, stop- 
ping on their way at all the Missions, and being 
warmly welcomed and entertained at each. 

General Moreno was much beloved by both army 
and Church. In many of the frequent clashings be- 
tween the military and the ecclesiastical powers he, 
being as devout and enthusiastic a Catholic as he was 
zealous and enthusiastic a soldier, had had the good 
fortune to be of material assistance to each party. 
The Indians also knew his name well, having heard 
it many times mentioned with public thanksgivings 
in the Mission churches, after some signal service 
he had rendered to the Fathers either in Mexico or 
Monterey. And now, by taking as his bride the 
daughter of a distinguished officer, and the niece of 
the Santa Barbara Superior, he had linked himself 
anew to the two dominant powers and interests of the 
country. 

When they reached San Luis Obispo, the whole 
Indian population turned out to meet them, the 
Padre walking at the head. As they approached the 
Mission doors the Indians swarmed closer and closer 
and still closer, took the General’s horse by the head, 
and finally almost by actual force compelled him to 
allow himself to be lifted into a blanket, held high up 
by twenty strong men ; and thus he w r as borne up the 
steps, across the corridor, and into the Padre’s room. 
It was a position ludicrously undignified in itself, but 
the General submitted to it good-naturedly. 

« Oh, let them do it, if they like,” he cried, laugh- 
ingly, to Padre Martinez, who was endeavoring to 
quiet the Indians and hold them back; “Let them 
do it. It pleases the poor creatures.” 

On the morning of their departure, the good Padre, 
having exhausted all his resources for entertaining his 
distinguished guests, caused to be driven past the cor- 
ridors, for their inspection, all the poultry belonging 


28 


RAMONA . 


to the Mission. The procession took an hour to pass. 
For music, there was the squeaking, cackling, hissing, 
gobbling, crowing, quacking of the fowls, combined 
with the screaming, scolding, and whip-cracking of the 
excited Indian marshals of the lines. First came the 
turkeys, then the roosters, then the white hens, then 
the black, and then the yellow; next the ducks, and 
at the tail of the spectacle long files of geese, some 
strutting, some half flying and hissing in resentment 
and terror at the unwonted coercions to which they 
were subjected. The Indians had been hard at work 
all night capturing, sorting, assorting, and guarding 
the rank and file of their novel pageant. It would 
be safe to say that a droller sight never was seen, 
and never will be, on the Pacific coast or any other. 
Before it was done with, the General and his bride 
had nearly died with laughter; and the General could 
never allude to it without laughing almost as heartily 
again. 

At Monterey they were more magnificently feted ; 
at the Presidio, at the Mission, on board Spanish, 
Mexican, and Eussian ships lying in harbor, balls, 
dances, bull-fights, dinners, all that the country knew 
of festivity, was- lavished on the beautiful and win- 
ning young bride The belles of the coast, from San 
Diego up, had all gathered at Monterey for these 
gayeties ; but not one of them could be for a moment 
compared to her. This was the beginning of the 
Senora’s life as a married woman. She was then 
just twenty A close observer would have seen even 
then, underneath the joyous smile, the laughing eye, 
the merry voice, a look thoughtful, tender, earnest, at 
times enthusiastic. This look was the reflection of 
those qualities in her, then hardly aroused, which 
made her, as years developed her character and 
stormy fates thickened around her life, the unflinch- 
ing comrade of her soldier husband, the passionate 


RAMONA. 


29 


adherent of the Church. Through wars, insurrec- 
tions, revolutions, downfalls, Spanish, Mexican, civil, 
ecclesiastical, her standpoint, her poise, remained the 
same. She simply grew more and more proudly, 
passionately, a Spaniard and a Moreno-; more and 
more stanchly and fierily a Catholic, and a lover of 
the Franciscans. 

During the height of the despoiling and plunder- 
ing of the Missions, under the Secularization Act, she 
was for a few years almost beside herself. More 
than once she journeyed alone, when the journey was 
by no means without danger, to Monterey, to stir up 
the Prefect of the Missions to more energetic action, 
to implore the governmental authorities to interfere, 
and protect the Church’s property. It was largely in 
consequence of* her eloquent entreaties that Governor 
Micheltorena issued his bootless order, restoring to 
the Church all the Missions south of San Luis Obispo. 
But this order cost Micheltorena his political head, 
and General Moreno was severely wounded in one 
of the skirmishes of the insurrection which drove 
Micheltorena out of the country. 

In silence and bitter humiliation the Senora nursed 
her husband back to health again, and resolved to 
meddle no more in the affairs of her unhappy country 
and still more unhappy Church. As year by year 
she saw the ruin of the Missions steadily going on, 
their vast properties melting away, like dew before 
the sun, in the hands of dishonest administrators 
and politicians, the Church powerless to contend with 
the unprincipled greed in high places, her beloved 
Franciscan Fathers driven from the country or dying 
of starvation at their posts, she submitted herself to 
what, she was forced to admit, seemed to be the inscru- 
table will of God for the discipline and humiliation of 
the Church. In a sort of bewildered resignation she 
waited to see what farther sufferings were to come. 


30 


RAMONA. 


to fill up the measure of the punishment which, for 
some mysterious purpose, the faithful must endure. 
But when close upon all this discomfiture and hu- ] 
miliation of her Church followed the discomfiture and ] 
humiliation of her country in war, and the near and 
evident danger of an English-speaking people’s possess- j 
ing the land, all the smothered fire of the Senora’s 
nature broke out afresh. With unfaltering hands she ; 
buckled on her husband’s sword, and with dry eyes 
saw him go forth to fight. She had but one regret, ! 
that she was not the mother of sons to fight also. 

“ Would thou wert a man, Felipe,” she exclaimed 
again and again in tones the child never forgot. ! 
“Would thou wert a man, x that thou might go also to 
fight these foreigners ! ” 

Any race under the sun w T ould have been to the 
Senora less hateful than the American. She had 
scorned them in her girlhood, when they came trad- 
ing to post after post. She scorned them still. The ; 
idea of being forced to wage a war with pedlers was | 
to her too monstrous to be believed. In the outset 
she had no doubt that the Mexicans would win in the 
contest. 

“ What ! ” she cried, “ shall we who won independ- 
ence from Spain, be beaten by these traders ? It is 
impossible ! ” 

When her husband was brought home to her dead, , 
killed in the last fight the Mexican forces made, she j 
said icily, “ He would have chosen to die rather than 
to have been forced to see his country in the hands ! 
of the enemy.” And she was almost frightened at 
herself to see how this thought, as it dwelt in her 
mind, slew the grief in her heart. She had believed 
she could not live if her husband were to be taken ; 
away from her ; but she found herself often glad 
that he was dead, — glad that he was spared the sight ! 
and the knowledge of the things which happened ; 


RAMONA. 


31 


and even the yearning tenderness with which her 
imagination pictured him among the saints, was often 
turned into a fierce wondering whether indignation 
did not fill his soul, even in heaven, at the way things 
were going in the land for whose sake he had died. 

Out of such throes as these, had been born the 
second nature which made Senora Moreno the silent, 
reserved, stern, implacable woman they knew, who 
knew her first when she was sixty. Of the gay, 
tender, sentimental girl, who danced and laughed 
with the officers, and prayed and confessed with the 
Fathers, forty years before, there was small trace left 
now, in the low-voiced, white-haired, aged woman, 
silent, unsmiling, placid-faced, who manoeuvred with 
her son and her head shepherd alike, to bring it about 
that a handful of Indians might once more confess 
their sins to a Franciscan monk in the Moreno 
chapel. 


m. 


J UAN CANITO and Senor Felipe were not the 
only members of the Senora’s family who were 
impatient for the sheep-shearing. There was also 
Bamona. Bamona was, to the world at large, a far 
more important person than the Sehora herself. The 
Senora was of the past ; Bamona was of the present. 
For one eye that could see the significant, at times 
solemn, beauty of the Senora’s pale and shadowed 
countenance, there were a hundred that flashed with 
eager pleasure at the barest glimpse of Bamona’s 
face ; the shepherds, the herdsmen, the maids, the 
babies, the dogs, the poultry, all loved the sight of 
Bamona ; all loved her, except the Senora. The 
Senora loved her not ; never had loved her, never 
could love her ; and yet she had stood in the place 
of mother to the girl ever since her childhood, and 
never once during the whole sixteen years of her 
life had shown her any unkindness in act. She had 
promised to be a mother to her ; and with all the 
inalienable stanchness of her nature she fulfilled the 
letter of her promise. More than the bond lay in 
the bond ; but that was not the Senora’s fault. 

The story of Bamona the Senora never told. To 
most of the Senora’s acquaintances now, Bamona was 
a mystery. They did not know — and no one ever 
asked a prying question of the Senora Moreno — who 
Bamona’s parents were, whether they were living or 
dead, or why Bamona, her name not being Moreno, 
lived always in the Senora’s house as a daughter, 


RAMONA . 


33 


tended and attended equally with the adored Felipe. 
A few gray -haired men and women here and there in 
the country could have told the strange story of Ra- 
mona ; but its beginning was more than a half-cen- - 
tury back, and much had happened since then. They 
seldom thought of the child. They knew she was in 
the Senora Moreno’s keeping, and that was enough. 
The affairs of the generation just going out were not 
the business of the young people coming in. They 
| would have tragedies enough of their own presently ; 

what was the use of passing down the old ones ? 

; Yet the story was no.t one to be forgotten ; and now 
and then it was told in the twilight of a summer 
I evening, or in the shadows of vines on a lingering 
I afternoon, and all young men and maidens thrilled 
who heard it. 

It was an elder sister of the Senora’s, — a sister 
; old enough to be wooed and won while the Senora 
j was yet at play, — who had been promised in marriage 
to a young Scotchman named Angus Phail. She was 
a beautiful woman ; and Angus Phail, from the day 
that he first saw her standing in the Presidio gate, 
became so madly her lover, that he was like a man 
bereft of his senses. This was the only excuse ever 
to be made for Ramona Gonzaga’s deed. It could 
never be denied, by her bitterest accusers, that, at the 
first, and indeed for many months, she told Angus 
she did not love him, and could not marry him ; and 
that it was only after his stormy and ceaseless en- 
treaties, that she did finally promise to become his wife. 
Then, almost immediately, she went away to Mon- 
terey, and Angus set sail for San Bias. He was the 
owner of the richest line of ships which traded along 
the coast at that time ; the richest stuffs, carvings, 
woods, pearls, and jewels, which came into the country, 
came in his ships. The arrival of one of them was 
always an event ; and Angus himself, having been 
3 


34 


RAMONA. 


well-born in Scotland, and being wonderfully well- 
mannered for a seafaring man, was made welcome 
in all the best houses, wherever his ships went into 
harbor, from Monterey to San Diego. 

The Senorita Ramona Gonzaga sailed for Monterey 
the same day and hour her lover sailed for San Bias. : 
They stood on the decks waving signals to each other 
as one sailed away to the south, the other to the north. 

It was remembered afterward by those who were in 
the ship with the Senorita, that she ceased to wave 
her signals, and had turned her face away, long be- 
fore her lover’s ship was out of sight. But the men 
of the “ San Jose ” said that Angus Phail stood im- 
movable, gazing northward, till nightfall shut from his . 
sight even the horizon line at which the Monterey 
ship had long before disappeared from view. 

This was to be his last voyage. He went on this I 
only because his honor was pledged to do so. Also, 
he comforted himself by thinking that he would bring I 
back for his bride, and for the home he meant to give 
her, treasures of all sorts, which none could select so I 
well as he. Through the long weeks of the voyage I 
lie sat on deck, gazing dreamily at the waves, and 
letting his imagination feed on pictures of jewels, | 
satins, velvets, laces, which would best deck his wife’s 
form and face. When he could no longer bear the j 
vivid fancies’ heat in his blood, he would pace the 
deck, swifter and swifter, till his steps were like those I 
of one flying in fear ; at such times the men heard I 
him muttering and whispering to himself, “ Ramona ! 
Ramona ! ” Mad with love from the first to the last 
was Angus Phail ; and there were many who believed ' 
that if he had ever seen the hour when he called 
Ramona Gonzaga his own, his reason w r ould have fled 
forever at that moment, and he would have killed 
either her or himself, as men thus mad have been 
known to do. But that hour never came. When, 


RAMONA. 


35 


eight months later, the “ San Jose ” sailed into the 
Santa Barbara harbor, and Angus Phail leaped breath- 
less on shore, the second man he met, no friend of 
his, looking him maliciously in the face, said : “ So, 
ho ! You ’re just too late for the wedding ! Your 
sweetheart, the handsome Gonzaga girl, was married 
here, yesterday, to a fine young officer of the Monterey 
Presidio ! ” 

Angus reeled, struck the man a blow full in the 
face, find fell on the ground, foaming at the mouth. 
He was lifted and carried into a house, and, speedily 
recovering, burst with the strength of a giant from 
the hands of those who were holding him, sprang out 
of the door, and ran bareheaded up the road toward 
the Presidio. At the gate he was stopped by the 
guard, who knew him. 

“ Is it true ? ” gasped Angus. 

“ Yes, Senor,” replied the man, who said afterward 
that his knees shook under him with terror at the 
look on the Scotchman’s face. He feared he would 
strike him dead for his reply. But, instead, Angus 
burst into a maudlin laugh, and, turning away, went 
staggering down the street, singing and laughing. 

The next that was known of him was in a low 
drinking-place, where he was seen lying on the floor, 
dead drunk ; and from that day he sank lower and 
lower, till one of the commonest sights to be seen in 
Santa Barbara was Angus Phail reeling about, tipsy, 
coarse, loud, profane, dangerous. 

“ See what the Senorita escaped ! ” said the thought- 
less. “ She was quite right not to have married such 
a drunken wretch.” 

In the rare intervals when he was partially sober, he 
sold all he possessed, — ship after ship sold for a song, 
and the proceeds squandered in drinking or worse. 
He never had a sight of his lost bride. He did not 
seek it ; and she, terrified, took every precaution to 


RAMONA. 


3b 

avoid it, and soon returned with her husband to 
Monterey. 

Finally Angus disappeared, and after a time the 
news came up from Los Angeles that he was there, 
had gone out to the San Gabriel Mission, and was 
living with the Indians. Some years later came the 
still more surprising news that lie had married a 
squaw, — a squaw with several Indian children, — 
had been legally married by the priest in the San 
Gabriel Mission Church. And that was the last that 
the faithless Ramona Gonzaga ever heard of her lover, 
until twenty -five years after her marriage, when one 
day he suddenly appeared in her presence. How 
he had gained admittance to the house was never 
known ; but there he stood before her, bearing in his 
arms a beautiful babe, asleep. Drawing himself up 
to the utmost of his six feet of height, and looking 
at her sternly, with eyes blue like steel, he said : 
“Senora Ortegna, you once did me a great wrong. 
You sinned, and the Lord has punished you. He 
has denied you children. I also have done a wrong ; 
I have sinned, and the Lord has punished me. He 
has given me a child. I ask once more at your 
hands a boon. Will you take this child of mine, 
and bring it up as a child of yours, or of mine, ought 
to be brought up ? ” 

The tears were rolling down the Senora Ortegna’s 
cheeks. The Lord had indeed punished her in more 
ways than Angus Phail knew. Her childlessness, 
bitter as that had been, was the least of them. 
Speechless, she rose, and stretched out her arms for 
the child. He placed it in them. Still the child 
slept on, undisturbed. 

“ I do not know if I will be permitted,” she said 
falteringly ; “ my husband — ” 

“ Father Salvierderra will command it. I have seen 
him,” replied Angus. 


RAMONA. 


37 


The Senora’s face brightened. “If that be so, I 
hope it can be as you wish,” she said. Then a strange 
embarrassment came upon her, and looking down 
upon the infant, she said inquiringly, “ But the 
child’s mother?” 

Angus’s face turned swarthy red. Perhaps, face 
to face with this gentle and still lovely woman he 
had once so loved, he first realized to the full how 
wickedly he had thrown away his life. With a quick 
wave of his hand, which spoke volumes, he said: 
“ That is nothing. She has other children, of her 
own blood. This is mine, my only one, my daughter. 
I wish her to be yours ; otherwise, she will be taken 
by the Church.” 

With each second that she felt the little warm 
body’s tender weight in her arms, Ramona Ortegna’s 
heart had more and more yearned towards the infant. 
At these words she bent her face down and kissed 
its cheek. “ Oh no ! not to the Church ! I will love 
it as my own,” she said. 

Angus Phail’s face quivered. Feelings long dead 
within him stirred in their graves. He gazed at the 
sad and altered face, once so beautiful, so dear. “ I 
should hardly have known you, Senora ! ” burst from 
him involuntarily. 

She smiled piteously, with no resentment. “ That 
is not strange. I hardly know myself,” she whispered. 
“ Life has dealt very hardly with me. I should not 
have known you either — Angus.” She pronounced 
his name hesitatingly, half appealingly. At the sound 
of the familiar syllables, so long unheard, the man’s 
heart broke down. He buried his face in his hands, 
and sobbed out : “ 0 Ramona, forgive me ! I brought 
the child here, not wholly in love ; partly in ven- 
geance. But I am melted now. Are you sure you 
wish to keep her ? I will take her away if you are 
not.” 


38 


RAMONA. 


“Never, so long as I live, Angus,” replied Seiiora 
Ortegna. “ Already I feel that she is a mercy from 
the Lord. If my husband sees no offence in her 
presence, she will be a joy in my life. Has she been 
christened ? ” 

Angus cast his eyes down. A sudden fear smote 
him. °“ Before I had thought of bringing her to you,” 
he stammered, “ at first I had only the thought of 
giving her to the Church. I had had her christened 
by ” — the words refused to leave his lips — “ the 
name — Can you not guess, Seiiora, what name she 
bears ? ” 

The Seiiora knew. “ My own ? ” she said. 

Angus bowed his head. “ The only woman’s 
name that my lips ever spoke with love,” he said, 
reassured, “ was the name my daughter should 
bear.” 

“It is well,” replied the Seiiora. Then a great 
silence fell between them. Each studied the other’s 
face, tenderly, bewilderedly. Then by a simultaneous 
impulse they drew nearer. Angus stretched out both 
his arms with a gesture of infinite love and despair, 
bent down and kissed the hands which lovingly held 
his sleeping child. 

“ God bless you, Bamona ! Farewell ! You will 
never see me more,” he cried, and was gone. 

In a moment more he reappeared on the threshold 
of the door, but only to say in a low tone, “ There is 
no need to be alarmed if the child does not wake for 
some hours yet. She has had a safe sleeping-potion 
given her. It will not harm her.” 

One more long lingering look into each other’s 
faces, and the two lovers, so strangely parted, still 
more strangely met, had parted again, forever. The 
quarter of a century which had lain between them 
had been bridged in both their hearts as if it were 
but a day. In the heart of the man it was the old 


RAMONA. 


39 


passionate adoring love reawakening ; a resurrection 
of the buried dead, to full life, with lineaments un- 
changed. In the woman it was not that ; there was 
no buried love to come to such resurrection in her 
heart, for she had never loved Angus Phail. But, 
long unloved, ill-treated, heart-broken, she woke at 
that moment to the realization of what manner of love 
it had been which she had thrown away in her youth ; 
her whole being yearned for it now, and Angus was 
avenged. 

When Francis Ortegna, late that night, reeled, half- 
tipsy, into his wife’s room, he was suddenly sobered 
by the sight which met his eyes, — his wife kneeling 
by the side of a cradle, in which lay, smiling in its 
sleep, a beautiful infant. 

“ What in the devil’s name,” he began ; then recol- 
lecting, he muttered : “ Oh, the Indian brat ! I see ! 
I wish you joy, Senora Ortegna, of your first child ! ” 
and with a mock bow, and cruel sneer, lie staggered 
by, giving the cradle an angry thrust with his foot 
as he passed. 

The brutal taunt did not much wound the Senora. 
The time had long since passed when unkind words 
from her husband could give her keen pain. But it 
was a warning not lost upon her new-born mother 
instinct, and from that day the little Bamona was 
carefully kept and tended in apartments where there 
was no danger of her being seen by the man to whom 
the sight of her baby face was only a signal for anger 
and indecency. 

Hitherto Ramona Ortegna had, so far as was possible, 
carefully concealed from her family the unhappiness 
of her married life. Ortegna’ s character was indeed 
well known; his neglect of his wife, his shameful 
dissipations of all sorts, were notorious in every port 
in the country. But from the wife herself no one 
had even heard so much as a syllable of complaint 


40 


RAMONA. 


She was a Gonzaga, and she knew how to suffer in 
silence. But now she saw a reason for taking her 
sister into her confidence. It was plain to her that 
she had not many years to live ; and what then would 
become of the child ? Left to the tender mercies of 
Ortegna, it was only too certain what would become of 
her. Long sad hours of perplexity the lonely woman 
passed, with the little laughing babe in her arms, 
vainly endeavoring to forecast her future. The near 
chance of her own death had not occurred to her 
mind when she accepted the trust. 

Before the little Ramona was a year old, Angus 
Phail died. An Indian messenger from San Gabriel 
brought the news to Senora Ortegna. He brought 
her also a box and a letter, given to him by Angus 
the day before his death. The box contained jewels 
of value, of fashions a quarter of a century old. They 
were the jewels which Angus had bought for his 
bride. These alone remained of all his fortune. 
Even in the lowest depths of his degradation, a 
certain sentiment had restrained him from parting 
with them. The letter contained only these words : 
“I send you all I have to leave my daughter. I 
meant to bring them myself this year. I wished to 
kiss your hands and hers once more. But I am 
dying. Farewell.” 

After these jewels were in her possession, Senora 
Ortegna rested not till she had persuaded Senora 
Moreno to journey to Monterey, and had put the box 
into her keeping as a sacred trust. She also won 
from her a solemn promise that at her own death 
she would adopt the little Ramona. This promise 
came hard from Senora Moreno. Except for Father 
Salvierderra’s influence, she had not given it. She 
did not wish any dealings with such alien and mon- 
grel blood. “ If the child were pure Indian, I would 
like it better,” she said. “ I like not these crosses. 


RAMONA. 


41 


It is the worst, and not the best of each, that 
remains.” 

But the promise once given, Senora Ortegna was 
content. Well she knew that her sister would not lie, 
nor evade a trust. The little Ramona’s future was 
assured. During the last years of the unhappy wo- 
man’s life the child was her only comfort. Ortegna’s 
conduct had become so openly and defiantly infamous, 
that he even flaunted his illegitimate relations in his 
wife’s presence ; subjecting her to gross insults, spite 
of her helpless invalidism. This last outrage was too 
much for the Gonzaga blood to endure ; the Senora 
never afterward left her apartment, or spoke to her 
husband. Once more she sent for her sister to come ; 
this time, to see her die. Every valuable she pos- 
sessed, jewels, laces, brocades, and damasks, she gave 
into her sister’s charge, to save them from falling into 
the hands of the base creature that she knew only 
too well would stand in her place as soon as the 
funeral services had been said over her dead body. 

Stealthily, as if she had been a tKief, the sorrowing 
Senora Moreno conveyed her sister’s wardrobe, article 
by article, out of the house, to be sent to her own 
home. It was the ^wardrobe of a princess. The 
Ortegnas lavished money always on the women whose 
hearts they broke ; and never ceased to demand of 
them that they should sit superbly arrayed in their 
lonely wretchedness. 

One hour after the funeral, with a scant and icy 
ceremony of farewell to her dead sister’s husband, 
Senora Moreno, leading the little four-year-old 
Ramona by the hand, left the house, and early the 
next morning set sail for home. 

When Ortegna discovered that his wife’s jewels 
and valuables of all kinds were gone, he fell into a 
great rage, and sent a messenger off, post-haste, with 
an insulting letter to the Senora Moreno, demanding 


42 


RAMONA. 


their return. For answer, he got a copy of his wife’s 
memoranda of instructions to her sister, giving all the 
said valuables to her in trust for Ramona ; also a let- 
ter from Father Salvierderra, upon reading which he 
sank into a fit of despondency that lasted a day or 
two, and gave his infamous associates considerable 
alarm, lest they had lost their comrade. But he soon 
shook off the influence, whatever it was, and settled 
back into his old gait on the same old high-road to 
the devil. Father Salvierderra could alarm him, but 
not save him. 

And this was the mystery of Ramona. No wonder 
the Senora Moreno never told the story. No wonder, 
perhaps, that she never loved the child. It "was a 
sad legacy, indissolubly linked with memories which 
had in them nothing but bitterness, shame, and sor- 
row from first to last. 

How much of all this the young Ramona knew or 
suspected, was locked in her own breast. Her Indian 
blood had as much proud reserve in it as was ever 
infused into the Haughtiest Gonzaga’s veins. While 
she was yet a little child, she had one day said to the 
Senora Moreno, “ Senora, why did my mother give 
me to the Senora Ortegna ? ” 

Taken unawares, the Senora replied hastily : “ Your 
mother had nothing whatever to do with it. It was 
your father.” 

“ Was my mother dead ? ” continued the child. 

Too late the Senora saw her mistake. “ I do not 
know,” she replied; which was literally true, but 
had the spirit of a lie in it. ‘T never saw your 
mother.” 

“ Hid the Senora Ortegna ever see her ? ” persisted 
Ramona. 

“ No, never,” answered the Senora, coldly, the old 
wounds burning at the innocent child’s unconscious 
touch. 


RAMONA. 


43 


Eamona felt the chill, and was silent for a time, 
her face sad, and her eyes tearful. At last she said, 
“ I wish I knew if my mother was dead.” 

“ Why ? ” asked the Senora. 

“ Because if she is not dead I would ask her why 
she did not want me to stay with her.” 

The gentle piteousness of this reply smote the 
Senora’s conscience. Taking the child in her arms, 
she said, “ Who has been talking to you of these 
things, Eamona ? ” 

“ J uan Can,” she replied. 

“ What did he say ? ” asked the Senora, with a look 
in her eye which boded no good to Juan Canito. 

“ It was not to me he said it, it was to Luigo ; but 
I heard him,” answered Eamona, speaking slowly, as 
if collecting her various reminiscences on the subject. 
“ Twice I heard him. He said that my mother was 
no good, and that my father was bad too.” And the 
tears rolled down the child’s cheeks. 

The Senora’s sense of justice stood her well in place 
of tenderness, now. Caressing the little orphan as she 
had never before done, she said, with an earnestness 
which sank deep into the child’s mind, “ Eamona 
must not believe any such thing as that. Juan Can 
is a bad man to say it. He never saw either your 
father or your mother, and so he could know nothing 
about them. I knew your father very well. He 
was not a bad man. He was my friend, and the 
friend of the Senora Ortegna ; and that was the rea- 
son he gave you to the Senora Ortegna, because she 
had no child of her own. And I think your mother 
had a good many.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Eamona, relieved, for the moment, at 
this new view of the situation, — that the gift had been 
not as a charity to her, but to the Senora Ortegna. 

“ Did the Senora Ortegna want a little daughter very 
much?” 


44 


RAMONA. 


“ Yes, very much indeed,” said the Senora, heartily 
and with fervor. “ She had grieved many years be- 
cause she had no child.” 

Silence again for a brief space, during which the 
little lonely heart, grappling with its vague instinct 
of loss and wrong, made wide thrusts into the per- 
plexities hedging it about, and presently electrified 
the Senora by saying in a half- whisper, “ Why did not 
my father bring me to you first ? Did he know you 
did not want any daughter ? ” 

The Senora was dumb for a second; then recover- 
ing herself, she said : “ Your father was the Senora 
Ortegna’s friend more than he was mine. I was only 
a child, then.” 

“ Of course you did not need any daughter when 
you had Felipe,” continued Ramona, pursuing her 
original line of inquiry and reflection without no- 
ticing the Senora’s reply. “ A son is more than a 
daughter; but most people have both,” eying the 
Senora keenly, to see what response this would 
bring. 

But the Senora was weary and uncomfortable with 
the talk. At the very mention of Felipe, a swift flash 
of consciousness of her inability to love Ramona had 
swept through her mind. “ Ramona,” she said firmly, 
“ while you are a little girl, you cannot understand 
any of these things. When you are a woman, I will 
tell you all that I know myself about your father and 
your mother. It is very little. Your father died 
when you were only two years old. All that you 
have to do is to be a good child, and say your prayers, 
and when Father Salvierderra comes he will be 
pleased with you. And he will not be pleased if you 
ask troublesome questions. Don’t ever speak to me 
again about this. When the proper time comes I 
will tell you myself.” 

This was when Ramona was ten. She was now 


RAMONA. 


45 


nineteen. She had never again asked the Senora a 
question bearing on the forbidden subject. She had 
been a good child and said her prayers, and Father 
• Salvierderra had been always pleased with her, grow- 
ing more and more deeply attached to her year by 
year. But the proper time had not yet come for the 
Senora to tell her anything more about her father and 
mother. There were few mornings on which the girl 
did not think, “ Perhaps it may be to-day that she 
will tell me.” But she would not ask. Every word 
of that conversation was as vivid in her mind as it 
had been the day it occurred ; and it would hardly be 
an exaggeration to say that during every day of the 
whole nine years had deepened in her heart the 
conviction which had prompted the child’s ques- 
tion, “Did he know that you did not want any 
daughter ? ” 

A nature less gentle than Ramona’s would have 
been embittered, or at least hardened, by this con- 
sciousness. But Ramona’s was not. She never put 
it in words to herself. She accepted it, as those born 
deformed seem sometimes to accept the pain and 
isolation caused by their deformity, with an unques- 
tioning acceptance, which is as far above resignation, 
as resignation is above rebellious repining. 

No one would have known, from Ramona’s face, 
manner, or habitual conduct, that she had ever experi- 
enced a sorrow or had a care. Her face was sunny, 
she had a joyous voice, and never was seen to pass 
a human being without a cheerful greeting, to high- 
est and lowest the same. Her industry was tireless. 
She had had two years at school, in the Convent of 
the Sacred Heart at Los Angeles, where the. Senora 
had placed her at much personal sacrifice* during one 
of the hardest times the Moreno estate had ever seen. 
Here she had won the affection of all the Sisters, 
who spoke of her habitually as the “ blessed child.” 


46 


RAMONA. 


They had taught her all the dainty arts of lace-weaving, 
embroidery, and simple fashions of painting and draw- 
ing, which they knew ; not overmuch learning out of 
books, but enough to make her a passionate lover of* 
verse and romance. For serious study or for deep 
thought she had no vocation. She was a simple, joy- 
ous, gentle, clinging, faithful nature, like a clear brook 
rippling along in the sun, — a nature as unlike as pos- 
sible to the Senora’s, with its mysterious depths and 
stormy, hidden currents. 

Of these Eamona was dimly conscious, and at times 
had a tender, sorrowful pity for the Senora, which 
she dared not show, and could only express by re- 
newed industry, and tireless endeavor to fulfil every 
duty possible in the house. This gentle faithfulness 
was not wholly lost on Senora Moreno, though its 
source she never suspected ; and it won no new recog- 
nition from her for Eamona, no increase of love. 

But there was one on whom not an act, not a look, 
not a smile of all this graciousness was thrown away. 
That one was Felipe. Daily more and more he won- 
dered at his mother’s lack of affection of Eamona. 
Nobody knew so well as he how far short she stopped 
of loving her. Felipe knew what it meant, how it 
felt, to be loved by the Senora Moreno. But Felipe 
had learned while he was a boy that one sure way to 
displease his mother was to appear to be aware that 
she did not treat Eamona as she treated him. And 
long before he had become a man he had acquired 
the habit of keeping to himself most of the things he 
thought and felt about his little playmate sister, — 
a dangerous habit, out of which were slowly ripen- 
ing bitter fruits for the Senora’s gathering in later 
years. 




IY, 



T was longer even than the Sen ora had thought 


-L it would be, before Father Salvierderra arrived. 
The old man had grown feeble during the year that 
she had not seen him, and it was a very short day’s 
journey that he could make now without too great 
fatigue. It was not only his body that had failed. 
He had lost heart ; and the miles which would have 
been nothing to him, had he walked in the compan- 
ionship of hopeful and happy thoughts, stretched out 
wearily as he brooded over sad memories and still 
sadder anticipations, — the downfall of the Missions, 
the loss of their vast estates, and the growing power 
of the ungodly in the land. The final decision of 
the United States Government in regard to the Mis- 
sion-lands had been a terrible blow to him. He had 
devoutly believed that ultimate restoration of these 
great estates to the Church was inevitable. In the 
long vigils which he always kept when at home at 
the Franciscan Monastery in Santa Barbara, kneeling 
on the stone pavement in the church, and praying 
ceaselessly from midnight till dawn, he had often had 
visions vouchsafed him . of a new dispensation, in 
which the Mission establishments should be rein- 
stated in all their old splendor and prosperity, and 
their Indian converts again numbered by tens of 
thousands. 

Long after every one knew that this was impossi- 
ble, he would narrate these visions with the faith of 
an old Bible seer, and declare that they must come 


48 


RAMONA. 


true, and that it was a sin to despond. But as year 
after year he journeyed up and down the country, 
seeing, at Mission after Mission, the buildings crum- 
bling into ruin, the lands all taken, sold, resold, and 
settled by greedy speculators ; the Indian converts dis- 
appearing, driven hack to their original wildernesses, 
the last traces of the noble work of his order being rap- 
idly swept away, his courage faltered, his faith died 
out. Changes in the manners and customs of his or- 
' der itself, also, were giving him deep pain. He was a 
Franciscan of the same type as Francis of Assisi. To 
wear a shoe in place of a sandal, to take money in a 
purse for a journey, above all to lay aside the gray 
gown and cowl for any sort of secular garment, 
seemed to him wicked. To own comfortable clothes 
while there were others suffering for want of them — 
and there were always such — seemed to him a sin for 
which one might not undeservedly be smitten with 
sudden and terrible punishment. In vain the Broth- 
ers again and again supplied him with a warm cloak ; 
he gave it away to the first beggar he met : and as 
for food, the refectory would have been left bare, and 
the whole brotherhood starving, if the supplies had 
not been carefully hidden and locked, so that Father 
Salvierderra could not give them all away. He was 
fast becoming that most tragic yet often sublime sight, 
a man who has survived, not only his own time, but 
the ideas and ideals of it. Earth holds no sharper 
loneliness : the bitterness of exile, the anguish of 
friendlessness at their utmost, are in it ; and yet it is 
so much greater than they, that even they seem small 
part of it. 

It was with thoughts such as these that Father 
Salvierdqjra drew near the home of the Senora 
Moreno late in the afternoon of one of those mid- 
summer days of which Southern California has so 
many in spring. The almonds had bloomed and the 


RAMONA. 


49 


blossoms fallen ; the apricots also, and the peaches 
and pears ; on all the orchards of these fruits had 
come a filmy tint of green, so light it was hardly 
more than a shadow on the gray. The willows were 
vivid light green, and the orange groves dark and 
glossy like laurel. The billowy hills on either side 
the valley were covered with verdure and bloom, — 
myriads of low blossoming plants, so close to the 
earth that their tints lapped and overlapped on each 
other, and on the green of the grass, as feathers in 
fine plumage overlap each other and blend into a 
changeful color. 

The countless curves, hollows, and crests of the 
coast-hills in Southern California heighten these cha- 
meleon effects of the spring verdure ; they are like 
nothing in nature except the glitter of a Brilliant 
lizard in the sun or the iridescent sheen of a pea- 
cock’s neck. 

Father Salvierderra paused many times to gaze at 
the beautiful picture. Flowers were always dear to 
the Franciscans. Saint Francis himself permitted all 
decorations which could be made of flowers. He 
classed them with his brothers and sisters, the sun, 
moon, and stars, — all members of the sacred choir 
praising God. 

It was melancholy to see how, after each one of these 
pauses, each fresh drinking in of the beauty of the 
landscape and the balmy air, the old man resumed his 
slow pace, with a long sigh and his eyes cast down. 
The fairer this beautiful land, the sadder to know it lost 
to the Church, — alien hands reaping its fulness, estab- 
lishing new customs, new laws. All the way down 
the coast from Santa Barbara he had seen, at every 
stopping-place, new tokens of the settling up of the 
country, — farms opening, towns growing ; the Ameri- 
cans pouring in, at all points, to reap the advantages 
of their new possessions. It was this which had 
4 


50 


RAMONA. 


made His journey heavy-hearted, and made him feel, 
in approaching the Senora Moreno’s, as if he were 
coming to one of the last sure strongholds of the 
Catholic faith left in the country. 

When he was within two miles of the house, he 
struck off from the highway into a narrow path that 
he recollected led by a short-cut through the hills, 
and saved nearly a third of the distance. It was 
more than a year since he had trod this path, and as 
he found it growing fainter and fainter, and more and 
more overgrown with the wild mustard, he said to 
himself, “ I think no one can have passed through 
here this year.” 

As he proceeded he found the mustard thicker and 
thicker. The wild mustard in Southern California 
is like that spoken of in the New Testament, in the 
branches of which the birds of the air may rest. 
Coming up out of the earth, so slender a stem that 
dozens can find starting-point in an inch, it darts up, 
a slender straight shoot, five, ten, twenty feet, with 
hundreds of fine feathery branches locking and in- 
terlocking with all the other hundreds around it, till 
it is an inextricable network like lace. Then it bursts 
into yellow bloom still finer, more feathery and lace- 
like. The stems are so infinitesimally small, and of 
so dark a green, that at a short distance they do 
not show, and the cloud of blossom seems float- 
ing in the air ; at times it looks like golden dust. 
With a clear blue sky behind it, as it is often seen, 
it looks like a golden snow-storm. The plant is a 
tyrant and a nuisance, — the terror of the farmer ; it 
takes riotous possession of a whole field in a season; 
once in, never out ; for one plant this year, a million 
the next ; but it is impossible to wish that the land 
were freed from it. Its gold is as distinct a value to 
the eye as the nugget gold is in the pocket. 

Father Salvierderra soon found himself in a verita- 


RAMONA. 


51 


ble thicket of these delicate branches, high above his 
head, and so interlaced that he could make headway 
only by slowly and patiently disentangling them, as 
one would disentangle a skein of silk. It was a fan- 
tastic sort of dilemma, and not unpleasing. Except 
that the Father was in haste to reach his journey’s 
end, he w 7 ould have enjoyed threading his way 
through the golden meshes. Suddenly he heard faint 
notes of singing. He paused, — listened. It was 
the voice of a woman. It was slowly drawing nearer, 
apparently from the direction in which he was going. 
At intervals it ceased abruptly, then began again; 
as if by a sudden but brief interruption, like that 
made by question and answer. Then, peering ahead 
through the mustard blossoms, he saw them waving 
and bending, and heard sounds as if they were being 
broken. Evidently some one entering on the path 
from the opposite end had been caught in the fra- 
grant thicket as he was. The notes grew clearer, 
though still low and sweet as the twilight notes of the 
thrush ; the mustard branches waved more and more 
violently ; light steps were now to be heard. Father 
Salvierderra stood still as one in a dream, his eyes 
straining forward into the golden mist of blossoms. 
In a moment more came, distinct and clear to his 
ear, the beautiful words of the second stanza of Saint 
Francis’s inimitable lyric, “The Canticle of the Sun:” 

“ Praise be to thee, 0 Lord, for all thy creatures, and espe- 
cially for our brother the Sun, — who illuminates the day, and 
by his beauty and splendor shadows forth unto us thine.” 

“ Eamona ! ” exclaimed the Father, his thin cheeks 
flushing with pleasure. “ The blessed child ! ” And 
as he spoke, her face came into sight, set in a swaying 
frame of the blossoms, as she parted them lightly to 
right and left with her hands, and half crept, half danced 
through the loop-hole openings thus made. Father 


52 


RAMONA. 


Salvierderra was past eighty, but his blood was not 
too old to move quicker at the sight of this picture. 
A man must be dead not to thrill at it. Ramona’s 
beauty was of the sort to be best enhanced by the 
waving gold which now framed her face. She had 
just enough of olive tint in her complexion to under- 
lie and enrich her skin without making it swarthy. 
Her hair was like her Indian mother’s, heavy and 
black, but her eyes were like her father’s, steel-blue. 
Only those who came very near to Ramona knew, 
however, that her eyes were blue, for the heavy black 
eyebrows and long black lashes so shaded and shad-' 
owed them that they looked black as night. At the 
same instant that Father Salvierderra first caught 
sight of her face, Ramona also saw him, and cry- 
ing out joyfully, “Ah, Father, I knew you would 
come by this path, and something told me you were 
near!” she sprang forward, and sank on her knees 
before him, bowing her head for his blessing. In 
silence he laid his hands on her brow. It would not 
have been easy for him to speak to her at that first 
moment. She had looked to the devout old monk, 
as she sprang through the cloud of golden flowers, the 
sun falling on her bared head, her cheeks flushed, her 
eyes shining, more like an apparition of an angel or 
saint, than like the flesh-and-blood maiden whom he 
had carried in his arms when she was a babe. 

“ We have been waiting, waiting, oh, so long for 
you, Father ! ” she said, rising. “ We began to fear that 
you might be ill. The shearers have been sent for, 
and will be here to-night, and that was the reason I 
felt so sure you would come. I knew the Virgin 
would bring you in time for mass in the chapel on the 
first morning.” 

The monk smiled half sadly. “ Would there were 
more with such faith as yours, daughter,” he said. 
“ Are all well on the place ? ” 


RAMONA. 


53 


“ Yes, Father, all well,” she answered. “ Felipe 
has been ill with a fever ; but he is out now, these 
ten days, and fretting for — for your coming.” 

Kamona had like to have said the literal truth, — 
“ fretting for the sheep-shearing,” but recollected her- 
self in time. 

“ And the Senora ? ” said the Father. 

“ She is well,” answered Ramona, gently, but with 
a slight change of tone, — so slight as to be almost 
imperceptible ; but an acute observer would have 
always detected it in the girl’s tone whenever she 
spoke of the Senora Moreno. “ And you, — are you 
well yourself, Father ? ” she asked affectionately, not- 
ing with her quick, loving eye how feebly the old 
man walked, and that he carried what she had never 
before seen in his hand, — a stout staff to steady his 
steps. “ You must be very tired with the long jour- 
ney on foot.” 

“ Ay, Ramona, I am tired,” he replied. “ Old age 
is conquering me. It will not be many times more 
that I shall see this place.” 

“ Oh, do not say that, Father,” cried Ramona ; “ you 
can ride, when it tires you too much to walk. ' The 
Senora said, only the other day, that she wished you 
would let her give you a horse ; that it was not right 
for you to take these long journeys on foot. You 
know we have hundreds of horses. It is nothing, one 
horse,” she added, seeing the Father slowly shake his 
head. 

“No he said, “it is not that. I could not refuse 
anything at the hands of the Senora. But it was the 
rule of our order to go on foot. We must deny the 
flesh. Look at our beloved master in this land, 
Father Junipero, when he was past eighty, walking 
from San Diego to Monterey, and all the while a run- 
ning ulcer in one of his legs, for which most men 
would have taken to a bed, to be healed. It is a sin- 


54 


RAMONA. 


ful fashion that is coming in, for monks to take their 
ease doing God’s work. I can no longer walk swiftly, 
hut I must walk all the more diligently.” 

While they were talking, they had been slowly 
moving forward, Ramona slightly in advance, grace- 
fully bending the mustard branches, and holding 
them down till the Father had followed in her steps. 
As they came out from the thicket, she exclaimed, 
laughing, “ There is Felipe, in the willows. I told 
him I was coming to meet you, and he laughed at me. 
Now he will see I was right.” 

Astonished enough, Felipe, hearing voices, looked 
up, and saw Ramona and the Father approaching. 
Throwing- down the knife with which he had been 
cutting the willows, he hastened to meet them, and 
dropped on his knees, as Ramona had done, for the 
monk’s blessing. As he knelt there, the wind blowing 
his hair loosely off his brow, his large brown eyes lifted 
in gentle reverence to the Father’s face, and his face full 
of affectionate welcome, Ramona thought to herself, as 
she had thought hundreds of times since she became a 
woman, “ How beautiful Felipe is ! No wonder the 
Seno'ra loves him so much ! If I had been beautiful 
like that she would have liked me better.” Never 
was a little child more unconscious of her own beauty 
than Ramona still was. AH the admiration which 
was expressed to her in word and look she took for 
simple kindness and good-will. Her face, as she 
herself saw it in her glass, did not please her. She 
compared her straight, massive black eyebrows with 
Felipe’s, arched and delicately pencilled, and found her 
own ugly. The expression of gentle repose -which her 
countenance wore, seemed to her an expression of stu- 
pidity. “ Felipe looks so bright ! ” she thought, as she 
noted his mobile changing face, never for two succes- 
sive seconds the same. “ There is nobody like Felipe.” 
And when his brown eyes were fixed on her, as they 


RAMONA. 


55 


so often were, in a long lingering gaze, she looked stead- 
ily back into their velvet depths with an abstracted 
sort of intensity which piofoundly puzzled Felipe. It 
was this look, more than any other one thing, which 
had for two years held Felipe’s tongue in leash, as it 
were, and made it impossible for him to say to Ra- 
mona any of the loving things of which his heart had 
been full ever since he could remember. The boy 
had spoken them unhesitatingly, unconsciously ; but 
the man found himself suddenly afraid. “ What is it 
she thinks when she looks into my eyes so ? ” he won- 
dered. If he had known that the thing she was usu- 
ally thinking was simply, “ How much handsomer 
brown eyes are than blue ! I wish my eyes were the 
color of Felipe’s ! ” he would have perceived, perhaps, 
what would have saved him sorrow, if he had known 
it, that a girl who looked at a man thus, would be 
hard to win to look at him as a lover. But being a 
lover, he could not see this. He saw only enough to 
perplex and deter him. 

As they drew near the house, Ramona saw Marga- 
rita standing at the gate of the garden. She was 
holding something white in her hands, looking down 
at it, and crying piteously. As she perceived Ramona, 
she made an eager leap forward, and then shrank 
back again, making dumb signals of distress to her. 
Her whole attitude was one of misery and entreaty. 
Margarita was, of all the maids, most beloved by 
Ramona. Though they were nearly of the same age, 
it had been Margarita who first had charge of Ramona ; 
the nurse and her charge had played together, grown 
up together, become women together, and were now, 
although Margarita never presumed on the relation, 
or forgot to address Ramona as Senorita, more like 
friends than like mistress and maid. 

“ Pardon me, Father,” said Ramona. “ I see that 
Margarita there is in trouble. I will leave Felipe to 


56 


RAMONA. 


go with you to the house. I will be with you again 
in a few moments.” And kissing his hand, she flew 
rather than ran across the field to the foot of the gar- 
den. 

Before she reached the spot, Margarita had dropped 
on the ground and buried her face in her hands. 
A mass of crumpled and stained linen lay at her 
feet. 

“ What is it ? What has happened, Margarita mia?” 
cried Ramona, in the affectionate Spanish phrase. For 
answer, Margarita removed one wet hand from her 
eyes, and pointed with a gesture of despair to the 
crumpled linen. Sobs choked her voice, and she 
buried her face again in her hands. 

Ramona stooped, and lifted one corner of the linen. 
An involuntary cry of dismay broke from her, at 
which Margarita’s sobs redoubled, and she gasped out, 
“Yes, Senorita, it is totally ruined! It can never 
be mended, and it will be needed for the mass to- 
morrow morning. When I saw the Father coming 
by your side, I prayed to the Virgin to let me die. 
The Senora will never forgive me.” 

It was indeed a sorry sight. The white linen 
altar-cloth, the cloth which the Senora Moreno had 
with her own hands made, into one solid front of 
beautiful lace of the Mexican fashion, by drawing 
out part of the threads and sewing the remainder 
into intricate patterns, the cloth which had always 
been on the altar, when mass was said, since Mar- 
garita’s and Ramona’s earliest recollections, — there 
it lay, torn, stained, as if it had been dragged through 
muddy brambles. In silence, aghast, Ramona opened 
it out and held it up. “ How did it happen, Mar- 
garita ? ” she whispered, glancing in terror up towards 
the house. 

“Oh, that is the worst of it, Senorita !” sobbed the 
girl. “ That is the worst of it ! If it were not for 


RAMONA. 


57 


that, I would not be so afraid. If it had happened 
any other way, the Senora might have forgiven me ; 
but she never will. I would rather die than tell 
her ; ” and she shook from head to foot. 

“Stop crying, Margarita!” said Ramona, firmly, 
“ and tell me all about it. It is n’t so bad as it looks ; 
I think I can mend it.” 

“ Oh, the saints bless you !” cried Margarita, look- 
ing up for the first time. “ Do ycru really think you 
can mend it, Senorita ? If you will mend that lace, 
I ’ll go on my knees for you all the rest of my life ! ” 
Ramona laughed in spite of herself. “ You’ll serve 
me better by keeping on your feet,” she said merrily ; 
at which Margarita laughed too, through her tears. 
They were both young. 

“ Oh, but Senorita,” Margarita began again in a 
tone of anguish, her tears flowing afresh, “ there is 
not time ! It must be washed and ironed to-night, 
for the mass to-morrow morning, and I have to help 
at the supper. Anita and Rosa are both ill in bed, you 
know, and Maria has gone away for a week. The 
Senora said if the Father came to-night I must help 
mother, and must wait on table. It cannot be 
done. I was just going to iron it now, and I found 
it — so — It was in the artichoke-patch, and Capi- 
tan, the beast, had been tossing it among the sharp 
pricks of the old last year’s seeds.” 4 

“ In the artichoke-patch ! ” ejaculated Ramona. 
“ How under heavens did it get there ? ” 

“Oh, that was what I meant, Senorita, when 
I said she never would forgive me. She has forbid- 
den me many times to hang anything to dry on the 
fence there ; and if I had only washed it when she 
first told me, two days ago, all would have been well. 
But I forgot it till this afternoon, and there was 
no sun in the court to dry it, and you know how 
the sun lies on the artichoke-patch, and I put a 


58 


RAMONA. 


strong cloth over the fence, so that the wood should 
not pierce the lace, and I did not leave it more 
than half an hour, just while I said a few words 
to Luigo, and there was no wind ; and I believe the 
saints must have fetched it down to the ground to 
punish me for my disobedience.” 

Ramona had been all this time carefully smooth- 
ing out the torn places. “ It is not so bad as it 
looks,” she said ; “ if it were not for the hurry, there 
would be no trouble in mending it. But I will do it 
the best I can, so that it will not show, for to-morrow, 
and then, after the Father is gone, I can repair it at 
leisure, and make it just as good as new. I think 
I can mend it and wash it before dark,” and she 
glanced at the sun. “ Oh, yes, there are good three 
hours’ of daylight yet. I can do it. You put irons 
on the fire, to have them hot, to iron it as soon as 
it is partly dried. You will see it will not show 
that anything has happened to it.” 

“Will the Senora know?” asked poor Margarita, 
calmed and reassured, but still in mortal terror. 

Ramona turned her steady glance full on Marga- 
rita’s face. “You would not be any happier if she 
were deceived, do you think ? ” she said gravely. 

“ 0 Senorita, after it is mended ? If it really does 
not show ? ” pleaded the girl. 

“I will tell her myself, and not till after it is 
mended,” said Ramona ; but she did not smile, 

“ Ah, Senorita,” said Margarita, deprecatingly, “ you 
do not know what it is to have the Senora displeased 
with one.” 

“ Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with 
one’s self,” retorted Ramona, as she walked swiftly 
away to her room with the linen rolled up under 
her arm. Luckily for Margarita’s cause, she met no 
one on the way. The Senora had welcomed Father 
Salvierderra at the foot of the veranda steps, and 


RAMONA. 


59 


had immediately closeted herself with him. She had 
much to say to him, — much about which she wished 
his help and counsel, and much which she wished to 
learn from him as to affairs in the Church and in the 
country generally. 

Felipe had gone off at once to find Juan Canito, 
to see if everything were ready for the sheep-shearing 
to begin on the next day, if the shearers arrived in 
time ; and there was very good chance of their com- 
ing in by sundown this day, Felipe thought, for he 
had privately instructed his messenger to make all 
possible haste, and to impress on the Indians the 
urgent need of their losing no time on the road. 

It had been a great concession on the Senora’s part 
to allow the messenger to be sent off before she had 
positive intelligence as to the Father’s movements. 
But as day after day passed and no news came, even 
she perceived that it would not do to put off the sheep- 
shearing much longer, or, as Juan Canito said, “for- 
ever.” The Father might have fallen ill ; and if that 
were so, it might veiy easily be weeks before they 
heard of it, so scanty were the means of communica- 
tion between the remote places on his route of visi- 
tation. The messenger had therefore been sent to 
summon the Temecula shearers, and the Senora had 
resigned herself to the inevitable ; piously praying, 
however, morning and night, and at odd moments 
in the day, that the Father might arrive before the 
Indians did. When she saw him coming up the garden- 
walk, leaning on the arm of her Felipe, on the after- 
noon of the very day which was the earliest possible 
day for the Indians to arrive, it was not strange that 
she felt, mingled with the joy of her greeting to her 
long-loved friend and confessor, a triumphant exul- 
tation that the saints had heard her prayers. 

In the kitchen all was bustle and stir. The com- 
ing of any guest into the house was a signal for 


60 


RAMONA. 


unwonted activities there, — even the coming of Father 
Salvierderra, who never knew whether the soup had 
forcemeat balls in it or not, old Marda said; and 
that was to her the last extreme of indifference to 
good things of the flesh. “ But if he will not eat, lie 
can see,” she said ; and her pride for herself and for the 
house was enlisted in setting forth as goodly an array 
of viands as her larder afforded. She grew suddenly 
fastidious over the size and color of the cabbages to go 
into the beef-pot, and threw away one whole saucepan 
full of rice, because Margarita had put only one onion 
in instead of two. 

“ Have I not told you again and again that for the 
Father it is always two onions ? ” she exclaimed. “ It 
is the dish he most favors of all ; and it is a pity 
too, old as he is. It makes him no blood. It is good 
beef he should take now.” 

The dining-room was on the opposite side of the 
court-yard from the kitchen, and there was a perpet- 
ual procession of small messengers going back and 
forth between the rooms. It was the highest ambition 
of each child to be allowed to fetch and carry dishes 
in the preparation of the meals at all times ; but 
when by so doing they could perchance get a glimpse 
through the dining-room door, open on the veranda, 
of strangers and guests, their restless rivalry became 
unmanageable. Poor Margarita, between her own 
private anxieties and her multiplied duties of helping 
in the kitchen, and setting the table, restraining and 
overseeing her army of infant volunteers, was nearly 
distraught ; not so distraught, however, but that she 
remembered and found time to seize a lighted candle 
in the kitchen, run and set it before the statue of 
Saint Francis of Paula in her bedroom, hurriedly 
whispering a prayer that the lace might be made 
whole like new. Several times before the afternoon 
had waned she snatched a moment to fling herself 


RAMONA. 


61 


down at the statue’s feet and pray her foolish little 
prayer over again. We think we are quite sure that 
it is a foolish little prayer, when people pray to have 
torn lace made whole. But it would be hard to show 
the odds between asking that, and asking that it may 
rain, or that the sick may get well. As the grand old 
Russian says, what men usually ask for, when they 
pray to God, is, that two and two may not make four. 
All the same he is to be pitied who prays not. It was 
only the thought of that candle at Saint Francis’s feet, 
which enabled Margarita to struggle through this 
anxious and unhappy afternoon and evening. 

At last supper was ready, — a great dish of spiced 
beef and cabbage in the centre of the table ; a tureen 
of thick soup, with forcemeat balls and red peppers 
in it ; two red earthen platters heaped, one with 
the boiled rice and onions, the other with the deli- 
cious frijoles (beans) so dear to all Mexican hearts ; 
cut-glass dishes filled with hot stewed pears, or pre- 
served quinces, or grape jelly; plates of frosted cakes 
of various sorts ; and a steaming silver teakettle, from 
which went up an aroma of tea such as had never 
been bought or sold in all California, the Senora’s 
one extravagance and passion. 

“ Where is Ramona ? ” asked the Senora, surprised 
and displeased, as she entered the dining-room. 
“ Margarita, go tell the Senorita that we are waiting 
for her.” 

Margarita started tremblingly, with flushed face, to- 
wards the door. What would happen now ! “ O Saint 
Francis,” she inwardly prayed, “ help us this once ! ” 

“ Stay,” said Felipe. “ Do not call Senorita Ramona.” 
Then, turning to his mother, “ Ramona cannot come. 
She is not in the house. She has a duty to perform 
for to-morrow,” he said ; and he looked meaningly at 
his mother, adding, “ we will not wait for her.” 

Much bewildered, the Senora took her seat at the 


62 


RAMONA. 


head of the table in a mechanical way, and began, 
« But — ” Felipe, seeing that questions were to fol- 
low, interrupted her: “I have just spoken with her. 
It is impossible for her to . come ; ” and turning to 
Father Salvierderra, he at once engaged him in con- 
versation, and left the baffled Senora to bear her un- 
satisfied curiosity as best she could. 

Margarita looked at Felipe with an expression of 
profound gratitude, which he did not observe, and 
would not in the least have understood ; for Ramona 
had not confided to him any details of the disaster. 
Seeing him under her window, she had called 
cautiously to him, and said : “ Dear Felipe, do you 
think you can save me from having to come to 
supper ? A dreadful accident has happened to the 
altar-cloth, and I must mend it and wash it, and 
there is barely time before dark. Don’t let them call 
me ; I shall be down at the brook, and they will not 
find me, and your mother will be displeased.” 

This wise precaution of Ramona’s was the salva- 
tion of everything, so far as the altar-cloth was con- 
cerned. The rents had proved far less serious than 
she had feared ; the daylight held out till the last of 
them was skilfully mended ; and just as the red 
beams of the sinking sun came streaming through 
the willow-trees at the foot of the garden, Ramona, 
darting down the garden, had reached the brook, and 
kneeling on the grass, had dipped the linen into the 
water. 

Her hurried working over the lace, and her anxiety, 
had made her cheeks scarlet. As she ran down the 
garden, her comb had loosened and her hair fallen to 
her waist. Stopping only to pick up the comb and 
thrust it in her pocket, she had sped on, as it would 
soon be too dark for her to see the stains on the 
linen, and it was going to be no small trouble to get 
them out without fraying the lace. 


RAMONA. 


63 


Her hair in disorder, her sleeves pinned loosely on 
her shoulders, her whole face aglow with the earnest- 
ness of her task, she bent low over the stones, rinsing 
the altar-cloth up and down in the water, anxiously 
scanning it, then plunging it in again. 

The sunset beams played around her hair like a 
halo ; the whole place was aglow with red light, and 
her face was kindled into transcendent beauty. A 
sound arrested her attention. She looked up. Forms, 
dusky black against the fiery western sky, were 
coming down the valley. It was the band of Indian 
shearers. They turned to the left, and went towards 
the sheep sheds and booths. But there was one of them 
that Ramona did not see. He had been standing for 
some minutes concealed behind a large willow-tree 
a few rods from the place where Ramona was kneel- 
ing. It was Alessandro, son of Pablo Assis, captain 
of the shearing band. Walking slowly along in ad- 
vance of his men, he had felt a light, as from a mirror 
held in the sun, smite his eyes. It was the red sun- 
beam on the glittering water where Ramona knelt. 
In the same second he saw Ramona. 

He halted, as wild creatures of the forest halt at 
a sound ; gazed ; walked abruptly away from his men, 
who kept on, not noticing his disappearance. Cau- 
tiously he moved a few steps nearer, into the shelter 
of a gnarled old willow, from behind which he could 
gaze unperceived on the beautiful vision, — for so it 
seemed to him. 

As he gazed, his senses seemed leaving him, and 
unconsciously he spoke aloud : “ Christ ! What shall 
I do!” 


V. 


T HE room in which Father Salvierderra always 
slept when at the Senora Moreno’s hquse was 
the southeast corner room. It had a window to the 
south and one to the east. When the first glow of 
dawn came in the sky, this eastern window was lit 
up as by a fire. The Father was always on watch 
for it, having usually been at prayer for hours. As 
the first ray reached the window, he would throw the 
casement wide open, and standing there with bared 
head, strike up the melody of the sunrise hymn sung 
in all devout Mexican families. It was a beautiful 
custom, not yet wholly abandoned. At the first dawn 
of light, the oldest member of the family arose, and 
began singing some hymn familiar to the household. 
It was the duty of each person hearing it to imme- 
diately rise, or at least sit up in bed, and join in the 
singing. In a few moments the whole family would 
be singing, and the joyous sounds pouring out from 
the house like the music of the birds in the fields at 
dawn. The hymns were usually invocations to the 
Virgin, or to the saint of the day, and the melodies 
were sweet and simple. 

On this morning there was another w 7 atcher for 
the dawn besides Father Salvierderra. It was Ales- 
sandro, who had been restlessly wandering about 
since midnight, and had finally seated himself under 
the willow-trees by the brook, at th^ spot where he 
had seen Eamona the evening before. He recollected 
this custom of the sunrise hymn wnen he and his 


RAMONA. 


65 


band were at the Senora’s the last year, and he had 
chanced then to learn that the Father slept in the 
southeast room. From the spot where he sat, he 
could see the south window of this room. He could 
also see the low eastern horizon, at which a faint 
luminous line already showed. The sky was like 
amber ; a few stars still shone faintly in the zenith. 
There was not a sound. It was one of Ihose rare 
moments in which one can without difficulty realize 
the noiseless spinning of the earth through space. 
Alessandro knew nothing of this ; he could not have 
been made to believe that the earth was moving. He 
thought the sun was coming up apace, and the earth 
was standing still, — a belief just as grand, just as 
thrilling, so far as all that goes, as the other : men 
worshipped the sun long before they found out that 
it stood still. Not the most reverent astronomer, 
with the mathematics of the heavens at his tongue’s 
end, could have had more delight in the wondrous 
phenomenon of the dawn, than did this simple-minded, 
unlearned man. 

His eyes wandered from the horizon line of slowly 
increasing light, to the windows of the house, yet 
dark and still. “ Which window is hers ? Will she 
open it when the song begins ? ” he thought. “ Is it 
on this side of the house ? Who can she be ? She 
was not here last year. Saw the saints ever so beau- 
tiful a creature ! ” 

At last came the full red ray across the meadow. 
Alessandro sprang to his feet. In the next second 
Father Salvierderra flung up his south window, and 
leaning out, his cowl thrown off, his thin gray locks 
streaming back, began in a feeble but not unmelodious 
voice to sing, — 


“ O beautiful Queen, 
Princess of Heaven.” 
5 


66 


RAMONA. 


Before he had finished the second line, a half-dozen 
voices had joined in, — the Senora, from her room at 
the west end of the veranda, beyond the flowers ; 
Felipe, from the adjoining room ; Bainona, from hers, 
the next ; and Margarita and other of the maids 
already astir in the wings of the house. 

As the volume of melody swelled, the canaries 
waked, and the finches and the linnets in the veranda 
roof. The tiles of this roof were laid„on bundles of 
tule reeds, in which the linnets delighted to build 
their nests. The roof was alive with them, — scores 
and scores, nay hundreds, tame as chickens ; their 
tiny shrill twitter was like the tuning of myriads of 
violins. 

“ Singers at dawn 
From the heavens above 
People all regions ; 

Gladly we too sing,” 

continued the hymn, the birds corroborating the 
stanza. Then men’s voices joined in, — Juan and 
Luigo, and a dozen more, walking slowly up from the 
sheepfolds. The hymn was a favorite one, known to 
all. 

“ Come, O sinners, 

Come, and we will sing 
Tender hymns 
To our refuge,” 

was the chorus, repeated after each of the five verses 
of the hymn. 

Alessandro also knew the hymn well. His father. 
Chief Pablo, had been the leader of the choir at the 
San Luis Bey Mission in the last years of its splen- 
dor, and had brought away with him much of the old 
choir music. Some of the books had been written 
by his own hand, on parchment. He not only sang 
well, but was a good player on the violin. There 
was not at any of the Missions so fine a band of per- 


RAMONA. 


67 


formers on stringed instruments as at San Luis Rey. 
Father Peyri was passionately fond of music, and 
spared no pains in training all of the neophytes under 
his charge who showed any special talent in that 
direction. Chief Pablo, after the breaking up of the 
Mission, had settled at Temecula, with a small band 
of his Indians, and endeavored, so far as was in his 
power, to keep up the old religious services. The 
music in the little chapel of the Temecula Indians 
was a surprise to all who heard it. 

Alessandro had inherited his father’s love and 
talent for music, and knew all the old Mission music 
by heart. This hymn to the 

“ Beautiful Queen, 

Princess of Heaven,” 

was one of his special favorites ; and as he heard 
verse after verse rising, he could not forbear strik- 
ing in. 

At the first notes of this rich new voice, Ramona’s 
voice ceased in surprise ; and, throwing up her win- 
dow, she leaned out, eagerly looking in all directions 
to see who ' it could be. Alessandro saw her, and 
sang no more. 

“ What could it have been ? Did I dream it ? ” 
thought Ramona, drew in her head, and began to 
sing again. 

With the next, stanza of the chorus, the same rich 
barytone notes. They seemed to float in under all 
the rest, and bear them along, as a great wave 
bears a boat. Ramona had never heard such a voice. 
Felipe had a good tenor, and she liked to sing with 
him, or to hear him ; but this — this was from an- 
other world, this sound. Ramona felt every note of 
it penetrating her consciousness with a subtle thrill 
almost like pain. When the hymn ended, she lis- 
tened eagerly, hoping Father Salvierderra would strike 


68 


RAMONA. 


up a second hymn, as he often did ; but he did not 
this morning ; there was too much to be done ; every- 
body was in a hurry to be at work : windows shut, 
doors opened; the sounds of voices from all directions, 
ordering, questioning, answering, began to be heard. 
The sun rose and let a flood of work-a-day light on 
the whole place. 

Margarita ran and unlocked the chapel door, put- 
ting up a heartfelt thanksgiving to Saint Francis and 
the Senorita, as she saw the snowy altar-cloth in its 
place, looking-, from that distance at least, as good as 
new. 

The Indians and the shepherds, and laborers of all 
sorts, were coming towards the chapel. The Senora, 
with her best, black silk handkerchief bound tight 
around her forehead, the ends hanging down each 
side of her face, making her look like an Assyrian 
priestess, was descending the veranda steps, Felipe 
at her side ; and Father Salvierderra had already 
entered the chapel before Ramona appeared, or Ales- 
sandro stirred from his vantage-post of observation 
at the willows. 

When Ramona came out from the door she bore in 
her hands a high silver urn filled with ferns. She had 
been for many days gathering and hoarding these. 
They were hard to find, growing only in one place in a 
rocky canon, several miles away. 

As she stepped from the veranda to the ground, 
Alessandro walked slowly up the garden-walk, facing 
her. She met his eyes, and, without knowing why, 
thought, “ That must be the Indian who sang.” As 
she turned to the right and entered the chapel, Ales- 
sandro followed her hurriedly, and knelt on the stones 
close to the chapel door. He would be near when 
she came out. As he looked in at the door, he saw 
her glide up the aisle, place the ferns on the reading- 
desk, and then kneel down by Felipe in front of 


RAMONA. 


69 


the altar. Felipe turned towards her, smiling slightly, 
with a look as of secret intelligence. 

Ah, Sefior Felipe has married. She is his wife,” 
thought Alessandro, and a strange pain seized him. 
He did not analyze it ; hardly knew what it meant. 
He was only twenty-one. He had not thought much 
about women. He was a distant, cold boy, his own 
people of the Temecula village said. It had come, 
they believed, of learning to read, which was always 
bad. Chief Pablo had not done his son any good by 
trying to make him like white men. If the Fathers 
could have stayed, and the life at the Mission have 
gone on, why, Alessandro could have had work to do for 
the Fathers, as his father had before him. Pablo had 
been Father Peyri’s right-hand man at the Mission ; 
had kept all the accounts about the cattle ; paid the 
wages ; handled thousands of dollars of gold every 
month. But that was “ in the time of the king ; ” it 
was very different now. The Americans would not 
let an Indian do anything but plough and sow and 
herd cattle. A man need not read and write, to do 
that. 

Even Pablo sometimes doubted whether he had 
done wisely in teaching Alessandro all he knew him- 
self. Pablo was, for one of his race, wise and far- 
seeing. He perceived the danger threatening his 
people on all sides. Father Peyri, before he left 
the country, had said to him : “ Pablo, your people 
will be driven like sheep to the slaughter, unless 
you keep them together. Knit firm bonds between 
them ; band them into pueblos ; make them work ; 
and above all, keep peace with the whites. It is 
your only chance.” 

Most strenuously Pablo had striven to obey Father 
Peyri’s directions. He had set his people the ex- 
ample of constant industry, working steadily in his 
fields and caring well for his herds. He had built 


70 


RAMONA. 


a chapel in his little village, and kept up forms 
of religious service there. Whenever there were 
troubles with the whites, or rumors of them, he went 
from house to house, urging, persuading, command- 
ing his people to keep the peace. At one time when 
there was an insurrection of some of the Indian 
tribes farther south, and for a few days it looked as 
if there would be a general Indian war, he removed 
the greater part of his band, men, women, and chil- 
dren driving their flocks and herds with them, to 
Los Angeles, and camped there for several days, that 
they might be identified with the whites in case 
hostilities became serious. 

But his labors did not receive the reward that 
they deserved. With every day that the intercourse 
between his people and the whites increased, he 
saw the whites gaining, his people surely losing 
ground, and his anxieties deepened. The Mexican 
owner of the Temecula valley, a friend of Father 
Peyri’s, and a good friend also of Pablo’s, had re- 
turned to Mexico in disgust with the state of affairs 
in California, and was reported to be lying at the 
point of death. This man’s promise to Pablo, that 
he and his people should always live in the valley 
undisturbed, was all the title Pablo had to the vil- 
lage lands. In the days when the promise was 
given, it was all that was necessary. The lines 
marking off the Indians’ lands were surveyed, and 
put on the map of the estate. No Mexican pro- 
prietor ever broke faith with an Indian family or 
village thus placed on his lands. 

But Pablo had heard rumors, which greatly dis- 
quieted him, that such pledges and surveyed lines as 
these were coming to be held as of no value, not 
binding on purchasers of grants. He was intelligent 
enough to see that if this were so, he and his peo- 
ple were ruined. All these perplexities and fears he 


RAMONA. 


71 


confided to Alessandro; long anxious hours the father 
and son spent together, walking back and forth in 
the village, or sitting in front of their little adobe 
house, discussing what could be done. There was 
always the same ending to the discussion, — a long 
sigh, and, “We must wait,- we can do nothing.” 

No wonder Alessandro seemed, to the more igno- 
rant and thoughtless young men and women of his 
village, a cold and distant lad. He was made old be- 
fore his time. He was carrying in his heart bur- 
dens of which they knew nothing. So long as the 
wheat-fields came up well, and there was no drought, 
and the horses and sheep had good pasture, in 
plenty, on the hills, the Temecula people could be 
merry, go day by day to their easy work, play 
games at sunset, and sleep sound all night. But 
Alessandro and his father looked beyond. And this 
was the one great reason why Alessandro had not 
yet thought about women, in way of love ; this, and 
also the fact that even the little education he had 
received was sufficient to raise a slight barrier, of 
which he was unconsciously aware, between him and 
the maidens of the village. If a quick, warm fancy 
for any one of them ever stirred in his veins, he 
found himself soon, he knew not how, cured of it. 
For a dance, or a game, or a friendly chat, for the 
trips into the mountains after acorns, or to the 
marshes for grasses and reeds, he was their good 
comrade, and they were his ; but never had the 
desire to take one of them for his wife, entered into 
Alessandro’s mind. The vista of the future, for him, 
was filled full by thoughts which left no room for 
love’s dreaming ; one purpose and one fear filled 
it, — the purpose to be his father’s worthy succes- 
sor, for Pablo was old now, and very feeble ; the fear, 
that exile and ruin were in store for them all. 

It was of these things he had been thinking as he 


72 


RAMONA. 


walked alone, in advance of his men, on the previous 
night, when he first saw Ramona kneeling at the 
brook. Between that moment and the present, it 
seemed to Alessandro that some strange miracle 
must have happened to him. The purposes and the 
fears had alike gone. A face replaced them ; a vague 
wonder, pain, joy, he knew not what, filled him so to 
overflowing that he was bewildered': If he had been 
what the world calls a civilized man, he would have 
known instantly, and would have been capable of 
weighing, analyzing, and reflecting on his sensations 
at leisure. But he was not a civilized man; he had 
to bring to bear on his present situation only simple, 
primitive, uneducated instincts and impulses. If 
Ramona had been a maiden of his own people or 
race, he would have drawn near to her as quickly as 
iron to the magnet. But now, if he had gone so far 
as to even think of her in such a way, she would 
have been, to his view, as far removed from him as 
was the morning star beneath whose radiance he had 
that morning watched, hoping for sight of her at her 
window. He did not*, however, go so far as to thus 
think of her. Even that would have been impossi- 
ble. He only knelt on the stones outside the chapel 
door, mechanically repeating the prayers with the 
rest, waiting for her to reappear. He had no doubt, 
now, that she was Senor Felipe’s wife ; all the same 
he wished to kneel there till she came out, that he 
might see her face again. His vista of purpose, fear, 
hope, had narrowed now down to that, — just one 
more sight of her. Ever so civilized, he could hardly 
have worshipped a woman better. The mass seemed 
to him endlessly long. Until near the last, he forgot 
to sing; then, in the closing of the final hymn, 
he suddenly remembered, and the clear deep-toned 
voice pealed out, as before, like the undertone of a 
great sea-wave, sweeping along. 


RAMONA . 


73 


Ramona heard the first note, and felt again the 
same thrill. She was as much a musician born as 
Alessandro himself. As she rose from her knees, 
she whispered to Felipe : “ Felipe, do find out which 
one of the Indians it is has that superb voice. I 
never heard anything like it.” 

“ Oh, that is Alessandro,” replied Felipe, “ old 
Pablo’s son. He is a splendid fellow. Don’t you 
recollect his singing two years ago ? ” 

“I was not here,” replied Ramona; “you for- 
get.” 

“ Ah, yes, so you were away ; I had forgotten,” 
said Felipe. “ Well, he was here. They made him 
captain of the shearing-band, though he was only 
twenty, and he managed the men splendidly. They 
saved nearly all their money to carry home, and I 
never knew them do such a thing before. Father 
Salvierderra was here, which might have had some- 
thing to do with it ; but I think it was quite as 
much Alessandro. He plays the violin beautifully. 
I hope he has brought it along. He plays the old 
San Luis Rey music. His father was band-master 
there.” 

Ramona’s eyes kindled with pleasure. “ Does your 
mother like it, to have him play ? ” she asked. 

Felipe nodded. “We ’ll have him up on the veranda 
to-night,” he said. 

While this whispered colloquy was going on, the 
chapel had emptied, the Indians and Mexicans all 
hurrying out to set about the day’s work. Alessan- 
dro lingered at the doorway as long as he dared, till 
he was sharply called by J uan Canito, looking back : 
“ What are you gaping at there, you Alessandro ! 
Hurry, now, and get your men to work. After wait- 
ing till near midsummer for this shearing, we ’ll 
make as quick work of it as we can. Have you got 
your best shearers here ? ” 


74 


RAMONA. 


« Ay, that I have,” answered Alessandro ; “ not a man 
of them but can shear his hundred in a day. There 
is not such a band as ours in all San Diego County ; 
and we don’t turn out the sheep all bleeding, either ; 
you ’ll see scarce a scratch on their sides.” 

“Humph!” retorted Juan Can. “ ’T is a poor 
shearer, indeed, that draws blood To speak of. I ’ve 
sheared many a thousand sheep in my day, and never 
a red stain on the shears. But the Mexicans have 
always been famed for good shearers.” 

Juan’s invidious emphasis on the word “Mexicans” 
did not escape Alessandro. “ And we Indians also,” 
he answered, good-naturedly, betraying no annoyance ; 

“ but as for these Americans, I saw one at work the 
other day, that man Lomax, who has settled near 
Temecula, and upon my faith, Juan Can, I thought 
it was a slaughter-pen, and not a shearing. The poor 
beasts limped off with the blood running.” 

Juan did not see his way clear at the moment to any 
fitting rejoinder to this easy assumption, on Alessan- 
dro’s part, of the equal superiority of Indians and 
Mexicans in the sheep-shearing art ; so, much vexed, 
with another “ Humph ! ” he walked away ; walked 
away so fast, that he lost the sight of a .smile on 
Alessandro’s face, which would have vexed him still 
farther. 

At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir 
and bustle. The shearing shed was a huge carica- 
ture of a summer-house, — a long, narrow structure, 
sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all roof and 
pillars ; no walls ; the supports, slender rough posts, 
as far apart as was safe, for the upholding the 
rcof, which was of rough planks loosely laid from 
beam to beam. On three sides of this were the sheep- 
pens filled with sheep and lambs. 

A few rods away stood the booths in which the . 
shearers’ food was to be cooked and the shearers fed. 


RAMONA. 


75 


These were mere temporary affairs, roofed only by 
willow boughs with the leaves left on. Near these, 
the Indians had already arranged their camp ; a 
hut or two of green boughs had been built, but for 
the most part they would sleep rolled up in their 
blankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, 
and the gay-colored wings of the windmill blew 
furiously round and * round, pumping out into the 
tank below a stream of water so swift and strong, 
that as the men crowded around, wetting and sharp- 
ening their knives, they got well spattered, and had 
much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other 
into the spray. 

A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed ; 
in this, swung from the four corners, hung one of the 
great sacking bags in which the fleeces were to be 
packed. A big pile of these bags lay on the ground 
at foot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a 
chuckle. “We’ll fill more than those before night, 
Senor Felipe,” he said. He was in his element, J uan 
Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for 
the somewhat monotonous and stupid year’s work. 
The world held no better feast for his eyes than the 
sight of a long row of big bales of fleece, tied, stamped 
with the Moreno brand, ready to be drawn away to 
the mills. “Now, there is something substantial,” 
he thought; “no chance of wool going amiss in 
market ! ” 

If a year’s crop were good, Juan’s happiness was 
assured for the next six months. If it proved poor, 
he turned devout immediately, and spent the next 
six months calling on the saints for better luck, and 
redoubling his exertions with the sheep. 

On one of the posts of the shed short project- 
ing slats were nailed, like half-rounds of a ladder. 
Lightly as a rope-walker Felipe ran up these, to the 
roof, and took his stand there, ready to take the 


76 


RAMONA. 


fleeces and pack them in the. bag as fast as they 
should he tossed up from below. Luigo, with a big 
leathern wallet fastened in front of him, filled with 
five-cent pieces, took his stand in the centre of the 
shed. The thirty shearers, running into the nearest 
pen, dragged each his sheep into the shed, in a 
twinkling of an eye had the creature between his 
knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharp sound of 
the shears set in. The sheep-shearing had begun. 
No rest now. Not a second’s silence from the bleat- 
ing, baa-ing, opening and shutting, clicking, sharpen- 
ing of shears, flying of fleeces through the air to the 
roof, pressing and stamping them down in the bales ; 
not a second’s intermission, except the hour of rest at 
noon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight 
thousand of the Senora Moreno’s sheep *were shorn. 
It was a dramatic spectacle. As soon as a sheep was 
shorn, the shearer ran with the fleece in his hand 
to Luigo, threw it down on a table, received his 
five-cent piece, dropped it in his pocket, ran to the 
pen, dragged out another sheep, and in less than five 
minutes was back again with a second fleece. The 
shorn sheep, released, bounded off into another pen, 
where, light in the head no doubt from being three to 
five pounds lighter on their legs, they trotted round 
bewilderedly for a moment, then flung up their heels 
and capered for joy. 

It was warm work. The dust from the fleeces and 
the trampling feet filled the air. As the sun rose 
higher in the sky the sweat poured off the men’s 
faces ; and Felipe, standing without shelter on the roof, 
found out very soon that he had by no means yet got 
back his full strength since the fever. Long before 
noon, except for sheer pride, and for the recollection 
of Juan Canito’s speech, he would have come down 
and yielded his place to the old man. But he was 
resolved not to give up, and he worked on, though his 


RAMONA. 


77 


face was purple and his head throbbing. After the 
bag of fleeces is half full, the packer stands in it, 
jumping with his full weight on the wool, as he 
throws in the fleeces, to compress them as much as 
possible. When Felipe began to do this, he found 
that he had indeed overrated his strength. As the 
first cloud of the sickening dust came up, enveloping 
his head, choking his breath, he turned suddenly 
dizzy, and calling faintly, “Juan, I am ill,” sank 
helpless dowrj in the wool. He had fainted. At 
Juan Canito’s scream of dismay, a great hubbub and 
outcry arose ; all saw instantly what had happened. 
Felipe’s head was hanging limp over the edge of the 
bag, Juan in vain endeavoring to get sufficient foot- 
hold by his side to lift him. One after another the 
men rushed* up the ladder, until they were all stand- 
ing, a helpless, excited crowd, on the roof, one propos- 
ing one thing, one another. Only Luigo had had the 
presence of mind to run to the house for help. The 
Senora was away from home. She had gone with 
Father Salvierderra to a friend’s house, a half-day’s 
journey off*. But Ramona was there. Snatching all 
she could think of in way of restoratives, she came 
flying back with Luigo, followed by every servant 
of the establishment, all talking, groaning, gesticu- 
lating, suggesting, wringing their hands, — as dis- 
heartening a Babel as ever made bad matters worse. 

Reaching the shed, Ramona looked up to the roof 
bewildered. “ Where is he ? ” she cried. The next 
instant she saw his head, held in Juan Canito’s arms, 
just above the edge of the wool-bag. She groaned, 
“ Oh, how will he ever be lifted out ! ” 

“I will lift him, Senora,” cried Alessandro, coming 
to the front. “ I am very strong. Do not be afraid ; 
I will bring him safe down.” And swinging himself 
down the ladder, he ran swiftly to the camp, and 
returned, bringing in his hands blankets. Spring- 


78 


RAMONA. 


ing quickly to the roof again, he knotted the blankets 
firmly together, and tying them at the middle around his 
waist, threw the ends^to his men, telling them to hold 
him firm. He spoke in the Indian tongue as he was 
hurriedly doing this, and Eamona did not at first un- 
derstand his plan. But when she saw the Indians move 
a little back from the edge of the roof, holding the 
blankets firm grasped, while Alessandro stepped out 
on one of the narrow cross-beams from which the bag 
swung, she saw what he meant to do. She held her 
breath. Felipe was a slender man ; Alessandro was 
much heavier, and many inches taller. Still, could 
any man carry such a burden safely on that narrow 
beam ! Ramona looked away, and shut her eyes, 
through the silence which followed. It was only a 
few moments ; but it seemed an eternity before a glad 
murmur of voices told her that it was done, and look- 
ing up, she saw Felipe lying on the roof, unconscious, 
his face white, his eyes shut. At this sight, all the 
servants broke out afresh, weeping and wailing, “ He 
is dead ! He is dead ! ” 

Ramona stood motionless, her eyes fixed on Felipe’s 
face. She, too, believed him dead ; but her thought 
was of the Senora. 

“ He is not dead,” cried Juan Canito, who had 
thrust his hand under Felipe’s shirt. “ He is not 
dead. It is only a faint.” 

At this the first tears rolled down Ramona’s face. 
She looked piteously at the ladder up and down which 
she had seen Alessandro run as if it were an easy 
indoors staircase. “ If I could only get up there ! ” 
she said, looking from one to another. “ I think I 
can ; ” and she put one foot on the lower round. 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” cried J uan Can, seeing her move- 
ment. “ Senorita ! Seiiorita ! do not attempt it. It 
is not too easy for a man. You will break your neck. 
He is fast coming to his senses.” 


RAMONA. 


79 


Alessandro caught the words. Spite of all the 
confusion and terror of the scene, his heart heard the 
word, “ Senorita.” Eamona was not the wife of Felipe, 
or of any man. Yet Alessandro recollected that he 
had addressed her as Senora, and she did not seem 
surprised. Coming to the front of the group, he said, 
bending forward, “ Senorita ! ” There must have been 
something in the tone which made Eamona start. 
The simple word could not have done it. “ Senorita,” 
said Alessandro, “ it will be nothing to bring Senor 
Felipe down the ladder. He is, in my arms, no more 
than one of the lambs yonder. T will bring him 
down as soon as he is recovered. He is better here 
till then. He will very soon be himself again. It 
was only the heat.” Seeing that the expression of 
anxious distress did not grow less on Eamona’ s face, 
he continued, in a tone still more earnest, “ Will not 
the Senorita trust me to bring him safe down ? ” 

Eamona smiled faintly through her tears. “ Yes,” 
she said, “ I will trust you. You are Alessandro, are 
you not ? ” 

“Yes, Senorita,” he answered, greatly surprised, 
“ I am Alessandro.” 


VI. * 


BAD beginning did not make a good ending 



-AjL of the Senora Moreno’s sheep-shearing this 
year. One as snperstitiously prejudiced against Ro- 
man Catholic rule as sire was in favor of it, would 
have found, in the way things fell out, ample reason 
for a belief that the Senora was being punished for 
having let all the affairs of her place come to a stand- 
still, to await the coming of an old monk. But 
the pious Senora, looking at the other side of the 
shield, was filled with gratitude that, since all this 
ill luck was to befall her, she had the good Father 
Salvierderra at her side to give her comfort and 
counsel. 

It was not yet quite noon of the fifst day, when 
Felipe fainted and fell in the wool ; and it w T as only 
a little past noon of the third, when Juan Canito, 
who, not without some secret exultation, had taken 
Senor Felipe’s place at the packing, fell from the 
cross-beam to the ground, and broke his right leg, — a 
bad break near the knee; and Juan Canito’s bones 
were much too old for fresh knitting. He would 
never again be able to do more than hobble about on 
crutches, dragging along the useless leg. It was a 
cruel blow to the old man. He could not be resigned 
to it. He lost faith in his saints, and privately in- 
dulged in blasphemous beratings and reproaches of 
them, which would have filled the Senora with terror, 
had she known that such blasphemies were being com- 
mitted under her roof. 


RAMONA. 


81 


“ As many times as I have crossed that plank, in 
my day ! ” cried J uan ; “ only the fiends themselves 
could have made me trip ; and there was that whole 
box of candles I paid for with my own money last 
month, and burned to Saint Francis in the chapel for 
this very sheep-shearing ! He may sit in the dark, 
for all me, to the end of time ! He is no saint at all ! 
What are they for, if not to keep us from harm when 
we pray to them ? I ’ll pray no more. I believe the 
Americans are right, who laugh at us.” From morn- 
ing till night, and nearly from night till morning, for 
the leg ached so he slept little, poor Juan groaned 
and grumbled and swore, and swore and grumbled 
and groaned. Taking care of him was enough, Mar- 
garita said, to wear out the patience of the Madonna 
herself. There was no pleasing him, whatever you 
did, and his tongue was never still a minute. For 
her part, she believed that it must be as he said, that 
the fiends had pushed him off the plank, and that the 
saints had had their • reasons for leaving him to his 
fate. A coldness and suspicion gradually grew up 
in the minds of all the servants towards him. His 
own reckless language, combined with Margarita’s 
reports, gave the superstitious fair ground for believ- 
ing that something had gone mysteriously wrong, and 
that the Devil was in a fair way to get his soul, which 
was very hard for the old man, in addition to all the 
rest he had to bear. The only alleviation he had for 
his torments, was in having his fellow-servants, men 
and women, drop in, sit by his pallet, and chat with 
him, telling him all that was going on ; and when by 
degrees they dropped off, coming more and more sel- 
dom, and one by one leaving off coming altogether, it 
was the one drop that overflowed his cup of misery ; 
and he turned his face to the wall, left off grumbling, 
and spoke only when he must. 

This phase frightened Margarita even more than 
6 


82 


RAMONA. 


the first. Now, she thought, surely the dumb terror 
and remorse of one who belongs to the Devil had 
seized him, and her hands trembled as she went 
through the needful ministrations for him each day. 
Three months, at least, the doctor, who had come from 
Ventura to set the leg, had said he must lie still in 
bed and be thus tended. “ Three months ! ” sighed 
Margarita. “ If I be not dead or gone crazy myself 
before the end of that be come ! ” 

The Senora was too busy with Felipe to pay at- 
tention or to give thought to Juan. Felipe’s fainting 
had been the symptom and beginning of a fierce re- 
lapse of the fever, and he was lying in his bed, tossing 
and raving in delirium, always about the wool. 

“ Throw them faster, faster ! That ’s a good fleece ; 
five pounds more ; a round ton in those bales. Juan ! 
Alessandro! Capitan ! — Jesus, how this sun burns 
my head ! ” 

Several times he had called “ Alessandro ” so ear- 
nestly, that Father Salvierderra advised bringing Ales- 
sandro into the room, to see if by any chance there 
might have been something in his mind that he 
wished to say to him. But when Alessandro stood 
by the bedside, Felipe gazed at him vacantly, as he 
did at all the others, still repeating, however, “ Ales- 
sandro ! Alessandro ! ” 

# “ I think perhaps he wants Alessandro to play on his 
violin, sobbed out Bamona. “ He was telling me how 
beautifully Alessandro played, and said he would have 
him up on the veranda in the evening to play to us.” 

‘We might try it,” said Father Salvierderra. 
“Have you your violin here, Alessandro ? ” 

“Alas, no, Father,” replied Alessandro, “I did not 
bring it.” 

Perhaps it would do him good if you were to 
sing, then, said Bamona. “ He was speaking of your 
voice also.” J 


RAMONA . 


83 


“ Oh, try, try ! ” said the Senora, turning to Ales- 
sandro. “ Sing something low and soft.” 

Alessandro walked from the bed to the open win- 
dow, and after thinking for a moment, began a slow 
strain from one of the masses. 

At the first note, Felipe became suddenly quiet, 
evidently listening. An expression of pleasure spread 
over his feverish face. He turned his head to one 
side, put his hand under his cheek and closed his 
eyes. The three watching him looked at each other 
in astonishment. 

“It is a miracle,” said Father Salvierderra. “ He 
will sleep.” 

“ It was what he wanted ! ” whispered Ramona. 

The Senora spoke not, but buried her face in the 
bedclothes for a second ; then lifting it, she gazed at 
Alessandro as if she were praying to a saint. He, 
too, saw the change in Felipe, and sang lower and 
lower, till the notes sounded as if they came from 
afar ; lower and lower, slower ; finally they ceased, 
as if they died away lost in distance. As they ceased, 
Felipe opened his eyes. 

“ Oh, go on, go on ! ” the Senora implored in a 
whisper shrill with anxiety. “ Do not stop ! ” 

Alessandro repeated the strain, slow, solemn ; his 
voice trembled ; the air in the room seemed stifling, 
spite of the open windows ; he felt something like 
terror, as he saw Felipe evidently sinking to sleep by 
reason of the notes of his voice. There had been 
nothing in Alessandro’s healthy outdoor experience 
to enable him to understand such a phenomenon. 
Felipe breathed more and more slowly, softly, regu- 
larly ; soon he was in a deep sleep. The singing 
stopped; Felipe did not stir. 

“ Can I go ? ” whispered Alessandro. 

“ No, no ! ” replied the Senora, impatiently. “ He 
may wake any minute.” 


84 


RAMONA . 


Alessandro looked troubled, but bowed his head 
submissively, and remained standing by the window. 
Father Salvierderra was kneeling on one side of the 
bed, the Seiiora at the other, Ramona at the foot, — 
all praying ; the silence was so great that the slight 
sounds of the rosary beads slipping against each other 
seemed loud. In a niche in the wall, at the head of 
the bed, stood a statue of the Madonna* on the other 
side a picture of Santa Barbara. Candles were burn- 
ing before each. The long wicks smouldered and 
died down, sputtering, then flared up again as the 
ends fell into the melted wax. The Seiiora’s eyes 
were fixed on the Madonna. The Father’s were 
closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with tears streaming 
down her face as she mechanically told her beads. 

“She is his betrothed, no doubt,” thought Ales- 
sandro. “ The saints will not let him die ; ” and Ales- 
sandro also prayed. But the oppression of the scene 
was too much for him. Laying his hand on the low 
window-sill, he vaulted over it, saying to Ramona, 
who turned her head at the sound, “ I will not go 
away, Seiiorita. I will be close under the window, 
if he awakes.” 

Once in the open air, he drew a long breath, and 
gazed bewilderedly about him, like one just recover- 
ing consciousness after a faint. Then he threw him- 
self on the ground under the window, and lay looking 
up into the sky. Capitan came up, and with a low 
whine stretched himself out at full length by his side. 
The dog knew as well as any other one of the house 
that danger and anguish were there. 

One hour passed, two, three ; still no sound from 
Felipe’s room. Alessandro rose, and looked in at the 
window. The Father and the Seiiora had not changed 
their attitudes ; their lips were yet moving in prayer. 
But Ramona had yielded to her fatigue ; slipped from 
her knees into a sitting posture, with her head leaning 


RAMONA. 


85 


against the post of the bedstead, and fallen asleep. 
Her face was swollen and discolored by weeping, and 
heavy circles under her eyes told how tired she was. 
For three days and nights she had scarcely rested, so 
constant were the demands on her. Between Felipe's 
illness and J uan Can’s, there was not a moment with- 
out something to be done, or some perplexing question 
to be settled, and above all, and through all, the terrible 
sorrow. Ramona was broken down with grief at the 
thought of Felipe’s death. She had never known till 
she saw him lying there delirious, and as she in her 
inexperience thought, dying, how her whole life was 
entwined with his. But now, at the very thought 
of what it would be to live without him, her heart 
sickened. “When he is buried, I will ask Father 
Salvierderra to take me away. I never can live here 
alone,” she said to herself, never for a moment per- 
ceiving that the word “ alone ” was a strange one to 
have come into her mind in the connection. The 
thought of the Seiiora did not enter into her imagina- 
tions of the future which so smote her with terror. 
In the Senora’s -presence, Ramona always felt herself 
alone. 

Alessandro stood at the window, his arms folded, 
leaning on the sill, his eyes fixed on Ramona’s face 
and form. To any other than a lover’s eyes she had 
not looked beautiful now ; but to Alessandro she 
looked more beautiful than the picture of Santa 
Barbara on the wall beyond. With a lover’s instinct 
he knew the thoughts which had written such lines 
on her face in the last three days. “ It will kill her 
if he dies,” he thought, “ if these three days have 
made her look like that.” And Alessandro threw him- 
self on the ground again, his face down. He did not 
know whether it were an hour or a day that he had 
lain there, when he heard Father Salvierderra’s voice 
speaking his name. He sprang up, to see the old 


86 


RAMONA. 


monk standing in the window, tears running down 
his cheeks. “ God be praised,” he said, “ the Senor 
Felipe will get well. A sweat has broken out on his 
skin ; he still sleeps, but when he wakes he will be 
in his right mind. The strength of the fever is 
broken. But, Alessandro, we know not how to spare 
you. Can you not let the men go without you, and 
remain here ? The Senora would like to have you 
remain in Juan Can’s place till he is about. She will 
give you the same wages he had. Would it not be a 
good thing for you, Alessandro ? You cannot be sure 
of earning so much as that for the next three months, 
can you ? ” 

While the Father was speaking, a tumult had been 
going on in Alessandro’s breast. He did not know by 
name any of the impulses which were warring there, 
tearing him in twain, as it were, by their pulling in 
opposite directions ; one saying “ Stay ! ” and the other 
saying “ Go ! ” He would not have known what any 
one meant, who had said to him, “ It is danger to stay ; 
it is safety to fly.” All the same, he felt as if he 
could do neither. 

“ There is another shearing yet, Father,” he began, 
“ at the Ortega’s ranch. I had promised to go to them 
as soon as I had finished here, and they have been 
wroth enough with us for the delay already. It will 
not do to break the promise, Father.” 

Father Salvierderra’s face fell. “ ISTo, my son, cer- 
tainly not,” he said ; “ but could no one else take your 
place with the band ? ” 

Hearing these words, Ramona came to the window, 
and leaning out, whispered, “ Are you talking about 
Alessandro’s staying ? Let me come and talk to him. 
He must not go.” And running swiftly through the 
hall, across the veranda, and down the steps, she stood 
by Alessandro’s side in a moment. Looking up in his 
face pleadingly, she said : "We can’t let you go. Ales- 


RAMONA. 


87 


sandro. The Senora will pay wages to some other to 
go in your place with the shearers. We want you to 
stay here in Juan Can’s place till he is well. Don’t 
say you can’t stay! Felipe may need you to sing 
again, and what would we do then ? Can’t you 
stay?” J 

“ Yes, I can stay, Senorita,” answered Alessandro, 
gravely. " I will stay so long as you need me.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Alessandro ! ” Ramona cried. 
“ You are good, to stay. The Senora will see that it 
is no loss to you ; ” and she flew back to the house. 

“It is not for the wages, Senorita,” Alessandro be- 
gan ; but Ramona was gone. She did not hear him, 
and he turned away with a sense of humiliation. “ I 
don’t want the Senorita to think that it was the 
money kept me,” he said, turning to Father Salvier- 
derra. “ I would not leave the band for money ; it is 
to help, because they are in trouble, Father.” 

“Yes, yes, son. I understand that,” replied the 
monk, who had known Alessandro since he was a 
little fellow playing in the corridors of San Luis Rey, 
the pet of all the Brothers there. “ That is quite 
right of you, and the Senora will not be insensible 
of it. It is not for such things that money can pay. 
They are indeed in great trouble now, and only the 
two women in the house ; and I must soon be going 
on m}^ way North again.” 

“ Is it sure that Senor Felipe will get well ? ” asked 
Alessandro. 

“ I think so,” replied Father Salvierderra. “ These 
relapses are always worse than the first attack ; but 
I have never known one to die, after he had the 
natural sweat to break from the skin, and got good 
sleep. I doubt not he will be in his hed, though, for 
many days, and there will be much to be seen to. 
It was an ill luck to have Juan Can laid up, too, just 
at this time. I must go and see him ; I hear he is 


88 


RAMONA. 


in most rebellious frame of mind, and blasphemes 
impiously.” 

“ That does he ! ” said Alessandro. “ He swears 
the saints gave him over to the fiends to push him 
off the plank, and he ’ll have none of them from this 
out ! I told him to beware, or they might bring him 
to worse things yet if he did 'hot mend his speech of 
them.” 

Sighing deeply as they walked along, the monk 
said : “ It is but a sign of the times. Blasphemers are 
on the highway. The people are being corrupted. 
Keeps your father the worship in the chapel still, 
and does a priest come often to the village ? ” 

“ Only twice a year,” replied Alessandro ; “and 
sometimes for a funeral, if there is money enough to 
pay for the mass. But my father has the chapel open, 
and each Sunday we sing what we know of the mass ; 
and the people are often there praying.” 

“ Ay, ay ! Ever for money ! ” groaned Father Sal- 
vierderra, not heeding the latter part of the sentence. 
“ Ever for money ! It is a shame. But that it were 
sure to be held as a trespass, I would go myself to 
Temecula once in three months ; but I may not. The 
priests do not love our order.” 

“ Oh, if you could, Father,” exclaimed Alessandro, 
“ it would make my father very glad ! He speaks 
often to me of the difference he sees between the 
words of the Church now and in the days of the Mis- 
sion. He is very sad, Father, and in great fear about 
our village. They say the Americans, when they buy 
the Mexicans’ lands, drive the Indians away as if 
they were dogs ; they say we have no right to our 
lands. Do you think that can be so, Father, when we 
have always lived on them, and the owners promised 
them to us forever ? ” 

Father Salvierderra was silent a long time before 
replying, and Alessandro watched his face anxiously. 


RAMONA. 


89 


He seemed to be hesitating for words to convey his 
meaning. At last he said : “ Got your father any 
notice, at any time since the Americans took the 
country, — notice to appear before a court, or any- 
thing about a title to the land ? ” 

“ No, Father,’’ replied Alessandro. 

“ There has to be some such paper, as I understand 
their laws,” continued the monk ; “ some notice, before 
any steps can be taken to remove Indians from an 
estate. It must be done according to the law, in the 
courts. If you have had no such notice, you are not 
in danger.” 

“ But, Father,” persisted Alessandro, “ how could 
there be a law to take away from us the land which 
the Seiior Yaldez gave us forever ? ” 

“ Gave he to you any paper, any writing to show it ?” 
“ No, no paper ; but it is marked in red lines on 
the map. It was marked off by Jose Ramirez, of 
Los Angeles, when they marked all the boundaries 
of Senor Yaldez’s -estate. They had many instru- 
ments of brass and wood to measure with, and a long 
chain, very heavy, which I helped them carry. I 
myself saw it marked on the map. They all slept in 
my father’s house, — Seiior Yaldez, and Ramirez, and 
the man who made the measures. He hired one of 
our men to carry his instruments, and I went to help, 
for I wished to see how it was done ; but I could 
understand nothing, and Jose told me a man must 
study many years to learn the way of it. It seemed 
to me our way, by the stones, was much better. But 
I know it is all marked on the map, for it was with 
a red line ; and my father understood it, and Jose 
Ramirez and Senor Yaldez both pointed to it with 
their finger, and they said, ‘ All this h§re is your land, 
Pablo, always.’ I do not think my father need fear, 
do you ? ” 

“ I hope not,” replied Father Salvierderra, cautiously; 


90 


RAMONA. 


“ but since tlie way that all the lands of the Missions 
have been taken away, I have small faith in the hon- 
esty of the Americans. I think they will take all 
that they can. The Church has suffered terrible loss 
at their hands.” 

“ That is what my father says,” replied Alessandro. 
“ He says, ‘ Look at San Luis Key ! Nothing but the 
garden and orchard left, of all their vast lands where 
they used to pasture thirty thousand sheep. If the 
Church and the Fathers could not keep their lands, 
what can we Indians do ? ’ That is what my father 
says.” 

“ True, true ! ” said the monk, as he turned into the 
door of the room where Juan Can lay on his narrow 
bed, longing yet fearing to see Father Salvierderra’s 
face coming in. “We are all alike helpless in their 
hands, Alessandro. They possess the country, and 
can make what laws they please. We can only say, 
‘ God’s will be done ; and he crossed himself de- 
voutly, repeating the words twice. 

Alessandro did the same, and with a truly devout 
spirit, for he was full of veneration for the Fathers and 
their teachings; but as he walked on towards the shear- 
ing-shed he thought : “ Then, again, how can it be God’s 
will that wrong be done ? It cannot be God’s will that 
one man should steal from another all he has. That 
would make God no better than a thief, it looks to me. 
But how can it happen, if it is not God’s will ? ” 

It does not need that one be educated, to see the 
logic in this formula. Generations of the oppressed 
and despoiled, before Alessandro, had grappled with 
the problem in one shape or another. 

At the shearing-shed, Alessandro found his men in 
confusion and ill-humor. The shearing had been over 
and done by ten in the morning, and why were they 
not on their way to the Ortega’s ? Waiting all day, — 
it was now near sunset, — with nothing to do, and still 


RAMONA. 


91 


worse with not much of anything to eat, had made 
them all cross ; and no wonder. The economical Juan 
Can, finding that the work would be done by ten, and 
supposing they would be off before noon, had ordered 
only two sheep killed for them the day before, and 
the mutton was all gone, and old Marda, getting her 
cue from Juan, had cooked no more frijoles than the 
family needed themselves ; so the poor shearers had 
indeed had a sorry day of it, in no wise alleviated either 
by the reports brought from time to time that their 
captain was lying on the ground, face down, under 
Senor, Felipe’s window, and must not be spoken to. 

It was not a propitious moment for Alessandro to 
make the announcement of his purpose to leave the 
band ; but he made a clean breast of it in few words, 
and diplomatically diverted all resentment from him- 
self by setting them immediately to voting for a new 
captain to take his place for the remainder of the 
season. 

“ Very well ! ” they said hotly ; “ captain for this 
year, captain for next, too ! ” It was n’t so easy to step 
out and in again of the captaincy of the shearers ! 

“All right,” said Alessandro; “please yourselves! 
It is all the same to me. But here I am going to 
stay for the* present. Father Salvierderra wishes it.” 

“ Oh, if the Father wishes it, that is different !” “ Ah, 
that alters the case ! ” “ Alessandro is right!” came up 
in confused murmur from the appeased crowd. They 
were all good Catholics, every one of the Temecula 
men, and would never think of going against the 
Father’s orders. But when they understood that 
Alessandro’s intention was to remain until Juan 
Canito’s leg should be well enough for him to go 
about again, fresh grumblings began. That would 
not do. It would be all summer. Alessandro must 
be at home for the Saint Juan’s Day fete, in mid- 
summer, — no doing anything without Alessandro 


92 


RAMONA. 


then. What was he thinking of ? Not of the mid- 
summer fete, that was certain, when he promised to 
stay as long as the Senorita Ramona should need 
him. Alessandro had remembered nothing except 
the Sehorita’s voice, while she was speaking to him. 
If he had had a hundred engagements for the sum- 
mer, he would have forgotten them all. Now that he 
was reminded of the midsummer fete, it must be 
confessed he was for a moment dismayed at the recol- 
lection ; for that was a time when, as he well knew, 
his father could not do without his help. There- were 
sometimes a thousand Indians at this fete, and dis- 
orderly whites took advantage of the occasion to sell 
whiskey and encourage all sorts of license and dis- 
turbance. Yes, Alessandro’s clear path of duty lay 
at Temecula when that fete came off. That was 
certain. 

“ I will manage to be at home then,” he said. “ If 
I am not through here by that time, I will at least 
come for the fete. That you may depend on.” 

The voting for the new captain did not take long. 
There was, in fact, but one man in the band fit for the 
office. That was Fernando, the only old man in the 
band ; all the rest were young men under thirty, or 
boys. Fernando had been captain for several years, but 
had himself begged, two years ago, that the band would 
elect Alessandro in his place. He was getting old, and 
he did not like to have to sit up and walk about the first 
half of every night, to see that the shearers were not 
gambling away all their money at cards ; he preferred 
to roll himself up in his blanket at sunset and sleep 
till dawn the next morning. But just for these few 
remaining weeks he had no objection to taking the 
office again. And Alessandro was right, entirely rioht 
in remaining; they ought all to see that, Fernando 
said ; and his word had great weight with the men. 

The Senora Moreno, he reminded them, had always 


RAMONA. 


93 


been a good friend of theirs, and had said that so long 
as she had • sheep to shear, the Temecula shearers 
should do it ; and it would be very ungrateful now if 
they did not do all they could to help her in her need. 

The blankets were rolled up, the saddles collected, 
the ponies caught and driven up to the shed, when 
Ramona and Margarita were seen coming at full speed 
from the house. 

“Alessandro! Alessandro!” cried Ramona, out of 
breath, “ I have only just now heard that the men have 
nad no dinner to-day. I am ashamed ; but you know 
it would not have happened except for the sickness in 
the house. Everybody thought they were going away 
this morning. Now they must have a good supper 
before they go. It is already cooking. Tell them to 
wait.” 

Those of the men who understood the Spanish lan- 
guage, in which Ramona spoke, translated it to those 
who did not, and there was a cordial outburst of thanks 
to the Senorita from all lips. All were only too ready 
to wait for the supper. Their haste to begin on the 
Ortega sheep-shearing had suddenly faded from their 
minds. . Only Alessandro hesitated. 

“ It is a good six hours’ ride to Ortega’s,” he said 
to the men. “You ’ll be late in, if you do not start 
now.” 

“ Supper will be ready in an hour,” said Ramona. 
“ Please let them stay ; one hour can’t make any differ- 
ence.” 

Alessandro smiled. “It will take nearer two, 
Senorita, before they are off,” he said ; “ but it shall 
be as you wish, and many thanks to you, Senorita, 
for thinking of it.” 

“ Oh, I did' not think of it myself,” said Ramona. 
“It was Margarita, here, who came and told me. She 
knew we would be ashamed to have the shearers go 
away hungry. I am afraid they are very hungry 


94 


RAMONA. 


indeed,” she added ruefully. “ It must be dreadful to 
go a whole day without anything to eat ; they had 
their breakfast soon after sunrise, did they not ? ” 

“ Yes, Senorita” answered Alessandro, “ but that is 
not long ; one can do without food very well for one 
day. I often do.” 

“ Often ! ” exclaimed Kamona ; “ but why should you 
do that ? ” Then suddenly bethinking herself, she 
said in her heart, “ Oh, what a thoughtless question ! 
Can it be they are so poor as that ? ” And to save 
Alessandro from replying, she set off on a run for the 
house, saying, “ Come, come, Margarita, we must go 
and help at the supper.” 

“ Will the Senorita let me help, too,” asked Alessan- 
dro, wondering at his own boldness, — “ if there is any- 
thing I can do ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” she cried, “ there is not. Yes, there is, 
too. You can help carry the things down to the 
booth; for we are short of hands now, with Juan Can 
in bed, and Luigo gone to Ventura for the doctor. 
You and some of your men might carry all the sup- 
per over. I ’ll call you when we are ready.” 

The men sat down in a group and waited content- 
edly, smoking, chatting, and laughing. Alessandro 
walked up and down between the kitchen and the 
shed. He could hear the sounds of rattling dishes, 
jingling spoons, frying, pouring water. Savory smells 
began to be wafted out. Evidently old Marda meant 
to atone for the shortcoming of the noon. Juan Can, 
in his bed, also heard and smelled what was going on. 
“ May the fiends get me,” he growled, “ if that waste- 
ful old hussy is n’t getting up a feast for those beasts 
of Indians ! There ’s mutton and onions, and peppers 
stewing, and potatoes, I ’ll be bound, and God knows 
what else, for beggars that are only too thankful to 
get a handful of roasted wheat or a bowi of acorn 
porridge at home. Well, they’ll have to say they 


RAMONA. 


95 


were well feasted at the Moreno’s, — that ’s one com- 
fort. I wonder if Margarita ’ll think I am worthy 
of tasting that stew ! San Jose I but it smells well ! 
Margarita ! Margarita ! ” he called at top of his 
lungs; but Margarita did not hear. She was ab- 
sorbed in her duties in the kitchen; and having 
already taken Juan at sundown a bowl of the good 
broth which the doctor had said was the only sort 
of food he must eat for two weeks, she had dismissed 
him from her mind for the night. Moreover, Mar- 
garita was absent-minded to-night. She was more 
than half in love with the handsome Alessandro, who, 
when he had been on the ranch the year before, had 
danced with her, and said many a light pleasant word 
to her, evenings, as a young man may; and what 
ailed him now, that he seemed, when he saw her, as if 
she were no more than a transparent shade, through 
which he stared at the sky behind her, she did not know. 
Senor Felipe’s illuess, she thought, and the general 
misery and confusion, had perhaps put everything else 
out of his head ; but now he was going to stay, and 
it would be good fun having him there, if only Senor 
Felipe got well, which he seemed like to do. And as 
Margarita flew about, here, there, and everywhere, she 
cast frequent glances at the tall straight figure pacing 
up and down in the dusk outside. 

Alessandro did not see her. He did not see any- 
thing. He was looking off at the sunset, and listen- 
ing. Eamona had said, “ I will call you when we are 
ready.” But she did not do as she said. She told 
Margarita to call. 

“ Run, Margarita,” she said. “ All is ready now ; 
see if Alessandro is in sight. Call him to come and 
take the things.” 

So it was Margarita’s voice, and not Ramona’s, 
that called, “ Alessandro ! Alessandro ! the supper is 
ready.” 


96 


RAMONA. 


But it was Bamona who, when Alessandro reached 
the doorway, stood there holding in her arms a huge 
smoking platter of the stew which had so roused poor 
Juan Can’s longings ; and it was Bamona who said, 
as she gave it into Alessandro’s hands, “ Take care, 
Alessandro, it is very full. The gravy will run over if 
you are not careful. You are not used to waiting on 
table ; ” and as she said it, she smiled full into Ales- 
sandro’s eyes, — a little flitting, gentle, friendly smile, 
which went near to making him drop the platter, 
mutton, gravy, and all, then and there, at her feet. 

The men ate fast and greedily, and it was not, after 
all, much more than an hour, when, full fed and 
happy, they were mounting their horses to set off. At 
the last moment Alessandro drew one of them aside. 
“Jose,” he said, “whose horse is the faster, yours or 
Antonio’s ? ” 

“ Mine,” promptly replied Jose. “ Mine, by a great 
deal. I will run Aritonio any day he likes.” 

Alessandro knew this as well before asking as after. 
But Alessandro was learning a great many things in 
these days, among other things a little diplomacy. 
He wanted a man to ride at the swiftest to Temecula 
and back. He knew that Jose’s pony could go like the 
wind. He also knew that there was a perpetual feud 
of rivalry between him and Antonio, in matter of 
the fleetness of their respective ponies. So, having 
chosen Jose for his messenger, he went thus to work 
to make sure that he would urge his horse to its 
utmost speed. 

Whispering in Josh’s ear a few words, he said, 
“ Will you go ? I will pay you for the time, all you 
could earn at the shearing.” 

“I will go,” said Jos($, elated. “You will see me 
back to-morrow by sundown ” 

“ Hot earlier ? ” asked Alessandro. “ I thought by 


RAMONA. 97 

“ Well, by noon be it, then,” said Jose. “ The horse 
can do it.” 

“ Have great care ! ” said Alessandro. 

“That will I,” replied Jos6; and giving his horse’s 
sides a sharp punch with his knees, set off at full 
gallop westward. 

“ I have sent Jose with a message to Temecula,” 
said Alessandro, walking up to Fernando. “ He will be 
back here to-morrow noon, and join you at the Ortega’s 
the next morning.” 

“ Back here by noon to-morrow ! ” exclaimed Fer- 
nando. “ Hot unless he kills his horse ! ” 

“ That was what he said, ” replied Alessandro, non- 
chalantly. 

“Easy enough, too!” cried Antonio, riding up on his 
little dun mare, “I ’d go in less time than that, on 
this mare. Jose’s is no match for her, and never was. 
Why did you not send me, Alessandro ? ” 

“ Is your horse really faster than Jose’s?” said Ales- 
sandro. “ Then I wish I had sent you. I ’ll send you 
next time.” 


VII. 


I T was strange to see how quickly and naturally 
Alessandro fitted into his place in the household. 
How tangles straightened out, and rough places became 
smooth, as he quietly took matters in hand. Luckily, 
old Juan Can had always liked him, and felt a great 
sense of relief at the news of his staying on. Not a 
wholly unselfish relief, perhaps, for since his accident 
Juan had not been without fears that he might lose 
his place altogether ; there was a Mexican he knew, 
who had long been scheming to get the situation, and 
had once openly boasted at a fandango, where he was 
dancing with Anita, that as soon as that superannuated 
old fool, Juan Canito, was out of the way, he meant 
to be the Senora Moreno’s head shepherd himself. To 
have seen this man in authority on the place, would 
have driven Juan out of his mind. 

But the gentle Alessandro, only an Indian, — and 
of course the Senora would never think of putting an 
Indian permanently in so responsible a position on the 
estate, — it was exactly as J uan would have wished ; 
and he fraternized with Alessandro heartily from the 
outset ; kept him in his room by the hour, giving him 
hundreds of long-winded directions and explanations 
about things which, if only he had known it, Ales- 
sandro understood far better than he did. 

Alessandro’s father had managed the Mission flocks 
and herds at San Luis Key for twenty years ; few 
were as skilful as he; he himself owned nearly as 
many sheep as the Senora Moreno; but this Juan did 
not know. Neither did he realize that Alessandro, 


RAMONA. 


99 


as Chief Pablo’s son, had a position of his own not 
without dignity and authority. To Juan, an Indian 
was an Indian, and that was the end of it. The gen- 
tle courteousness of Alessandro’s manner, his quiet 
behavior, were all set down in Juan’s mind to the score 
of the boy’s native amiability and sweetness. If Juan 
had been told that the Sen or Felipe himself had not 
been more carefully trained in all precepts of kind- 
liness, honorable dealing, and polite usage, by the 
Senora, his mother, than had Alessandro by his father, 
he would have opened his eyes wide. The stand- 
ards of the two parents were different, to be sure; 
but the advantage could not be shown to be entirely 
on the Seiiora’s side. There were many things that 
Felipe knew, of which Alessandro was profoundly igno- 
rant ; but there were others in which Alessandro could 
have taught Felipe ; and when it came to the things 
of the soul, and of honor, Alessandro’s plane was the 
higher of the two. Felipe was a fair-minded, honor- 
able man, as men go ; but circumstance and oppor- 
tunity would have a hold on him they could never 
get on Alessandro. Alessandro would not lie ; Felipe 
might. Alessandro was by nature full of veneration 
and the religious instinct ; Felipe had been trained 
into being a good Catholic. But they were both 
singularly pure-minded, open-hearted, generous-souled 
young men, and destined, by the strange chance which 
had thus brought them into familiar relations, to 
become strongly attached to each other. After the 
day on which the madness of Felipe’s fever had been 
so miraculously soothed and controlled by Alessandro’s 
singing, he was never again wildly delirious. When 
he waked in the night from that first long sleep, he 
was, as Father Salvierderra had predicted, in his right 
mind ; knew every one, and asked rational questions. 
But the over-heated and excited brain did not for 
some time wholly resume normal action. At inter- 


100 


RAMONA. 


vals he wandered, especially when just arousing from 
sleep ; and, strangely enough, it was always for Ales- 
sandro that he called at these times, and it seemed 
always to be music that he craved. He recollected 
Alessandro’s having sung to him that first night. 
“ I was not so crazy as you all thought,” he said. “ I 
knew a great many of the things I said, but I could n’t 
help saying them ; and I heard Ramona ask Alessan- 
dro to sing ; and when he began, I remember I thought 
the Virgin had reached down and put her hand on 
my head and cooled it.” 

On the second evening, the first after the shearers 
had left, Alessandro, seeing Ramona in the veranda, 
went to the foot of the steps, and said, “ Senorita, 
would Senor Felipe like to have me play on the vio- 
lin to him to-night ?” 

“ Why, whose violin have you got ? ” exclaimed 
Ramona, astonished. 

“ My own, Senorita.” 

“ Your own ! I thought you said you did not bring 
it.” 

“ Yes, Senorita, that is true ; but I sent for it last 
night, and it is here.” 

“Sent to Temecula and back already!” cried 
Ramona. 

“ Yes, Senorita. Our ponies are swift and strong. 
They can go a hundred miles in a day, and not suffer. 
It was Jos4 brought it, and he is at the Ortega’s by 
this time.” 

Ramona’s eyes glistened. “I wish I could have 
thanked him,” she said. “ You should have let me 
know. He ought to have been paid for going.” 

“ I paid him, Senorita ; he went for me ; ” said 
Alessandro, with a shade of wounded pride in the 
tone, which Ramona should have perceived, but 
did not, and went on hurting the lover’s heart still 
more. 


RAMONA. 


101 


“ But it was for us that you sent for it, Alessandro ; 
the Seiiora would rather pay the messenger herself.” 

“It is paid, Sehorita. It is nothing. If the Senor 
Felipe wishes to hear the violin, I will play;” and 
Alessandro walked slowly away. 

Ramona gazed after him. For the first time, she 
looked at him with no thought of his being an Indian, 
— a thougT.it there had surely been no need of her 
having, since his skin was not a shade darker than 
Felipe’s ; but so strong was the race feeling, that 
never till that moment had she forgotten it. 

“What a superb head, and what a walk!” she 
thought. Then, looking more observantly, she said : 
“ He walks as if he were offended. He did not like 
my offering to pay for the messenger. He wanted 
to do it for dear Felipe. I will tell Felipe, and we 
will give him some present when he goes away.” 

“Is n’t he splendid, Senorita?” came in a light 
laughing tone from Margarita’s lips close to her ear, 
in the fond freedom of their relation. “ Is n’t he 
splendid ? And oh, Senorita, you can’t think how he 
dances ! Last year I danced with him every night ; 
he has wings on his feet, for all he is so tall and big.” 

There was a coquettish consciousness in the girl’s 
tone, that was suddenly, for some unexplained reason, 
exceedingly displeasing to Ramona. Drawing herself 
away, she spoke to Margarita in a tone she had never 
before in her life used. “ It is not fitting to speak 
like that about young men. The Seiiora would be 
displeased if she heard you,” she said, and walked 
swiftly away, leaving poor Margarita as astounded as 
if she had got a box on the ear. 

She looked after Ramona’s retreating figure, then 
after Alessandro’s. She had heard them talking to- 
gether just before she came up. Thoroughly bewil- 
dered and puzzled, she stood motionless for several 
seconds, reflecting ; then, shaking her head, she ran 


102 


RAMONA. 


away, trying to dismiss the harsh speech from her mind. 
“ Alessandro must have vexed the Senorita,” she 
thought, “ to make her speak like that to me.” But 
the incident was not so easily dismissed from Marga- 
rita’s thoughts. Many times in the day it recurred to 
her, still a bewilderment and a puzzle, as far from solu- 
tion as ever. It was a tiny seed, whose name she did 
not dream of; but it was dropped in soil where it 
would grow some day, — forcing-house soil, and a bit- 
ter seed ; and when it blossomed, Ramona would have 
an enemy. 

All unconscious, equally of Margarita’s heart and 
her own, Ramona proceeded to Felipe’s room. Felipe 
was sleeping, the Senora sitting by his side,*as she 
had sat for days and nights, — - her dark face looking 
thinner and more drawn each day ; her hair looking 
even whiter, if that could be ; and her voice growing 
hollow from faintness and sorrow. 

“ Dear Senora,” whispered Ramona, “ do go out for 
a few moments while he sleeps, and let me watch, — 
just on the walk in front of the veranda. The sun is 
still lying there, bright and warm. You will be ill if 
you do not have air.” 

The Senora shook her head. “ My place is here,” 
she answered, speaking in a dry, hard tone. Sympa- 
thy was hateful to the Senora Moreno ; she wished 
neither to give it nor take it. "I shall not leave 
him. I do not need the air.” 

Ramona had a cloth-of-gold rose in her hand. The 
veranda eaves were now shaded with them, hang- 
ing down like a thick fringe of golden tassels. It 
was the rose Felipe loved best. Stooping, she laid it 
on the bed, near Felipe’s head. “ He will like to see 
it when he wakes,” she said. 

The Senora seized it, and flung it far ont in the 
room. “ Take it away ! Flowers are poison when one 
is ill,” she said coldly. “ Have I never told you that ? ” 


RAMONA. 


103 


“No, Seil ora” replied Ramona, meekly; and she 
glanced involuntarily at the saucer of musk which 
the Senora kept on the table close to Felipe’s pillow. 

“The musk is different,” said the Senora, seeing 
the glance. “ Musk is a medicine ; it revives.” 

Ramona knew, but she would have never dared to 
say, that Felipe hated musk. Many times he had said 
to her how he hated the odor ; but his mother was so 
fond of it, that it must always be that the veranda and 
the house would be full of it. Ramona hated it too. 
At times it made her faint, with a deadly faintness. 
But neither she nor Felipe would have confessed as 
much to the Senora ; and if they had, she would 
have thought it all a fancy. 

“ Shall I stay ? ” asked Ramona, gently. 

“ As you please,” replied the Senora. The simple 
presence of Ramona irked her now with a feeling she 
did not pretend to analyze, and would have been 
terrified at if she had. She would not have dared to 
say to herself, in plain words : “ Why is that girl 
well and strong, and my Felipe lying here like to 
die ! If Felipe dies, I cannot bear the sight of her. 
What is she, to be preserved of the saints ! ” 

But that, or something like it, was what she felt 
whenever Ramona entered the room; still more, when- 
ever she assisted in ministering to Felipe. If it had 
been possible, the Senora would have had no hands 
but her own do aught for her boy. Even tears from 
Ramona sometimes irritated her. “What does she 
know about loving Felipe! He is nothing to her!” 
thought the Senora, strangely mistaken, strangely 
blind, strangely forgetting how feeble is the tie of 
blood in the veins by the side of love in the heart. 

If into this fiery soul of the Seiiora’s could have 
been dropped one second’s knowledge of the relative 
positions she and Ramona already occupied in Felipe’s 
heart, she would, on the spot, have either died herself. 


104 


RAMONA. 


or have slain Ramona, one or the other. But no such 
knowledge was possible; no such idea could have 
found entrance into the Sen ora’s mind. A revelation 
from Heaven of it could hardly have reached even 
her ears. So impenetrable are the veils which, for- 
tunately for us all, are forever held by viewless 
hands between us and the nearest and closest of our 
daily companions. 

At twilight of this day Felipe was restless and 
feverish again. He had dozed at intervals all day 
long, but had had no refreshing sleep. 

“ Send for Alessandro,” he said. “ Let him come 
and sing to me.” 

“ He has his violin now ; he can play, if you would 
like that better,” said Ramona ; and she related what 
Alessandro had told her of the messenger’s having 
ridden to Temecula and back in a night and half a 
day, to bring it. 

“ I wanted to pay the man,” she said ; “ I knew of 
course your mother would wish to reward him. But 
I fancy Alessandro was offended. He answered me 
shortly that it was paid, and it was nothing.” 

“ You could n’t have offended him more,” said 
Felipe. “What a pity! He is as proud as Lucifer 
himself, that Alessandro. You know his father has 
always been the head of their band ; in fact, he has 
authority over several bands; General, they call it now, 
since they got the title from the Americans ; they used 
to call it Chief, and until Father Peyri left San Luis 
Rey, Pablo was in charge of all the sheep, and general 
steward and paymaster. Father Peyri trusted him 
with everything ; I ’ve heard he would leave boxes 
full of uncounted gold in Pablo’s charge to pay off 
the Indians. Pablo reads and writes, and is very well 
off ; he has as many sheep as we have, I fancy ! ” 

“What!” exclaimed Ramona, astonished. “They 
all look as if they were poor.” 


RAMONA. 


105 


"Oh, well, so they are,” replied Felipe, "compared 
with us; but one reason is, they share everything 
with each other. Old Pablo feeds and supports half 
his village, they say. So long as he has anything, he 
will never see one of his Indians hungry.” 

“ How generous ! ” warmly exclaimed Ramona ; “ I 
think they are better than we are, Felipe !” 

"I think so, too,” said Felipe. “That’s what I 
have always said. The Indians are the most generous 
people in the world. Of course they have learned it 
partly from us ; but they were very much so when the 
Fathers first came here. You ask Father Salvierderra 
some day. He has read all Father Junipero’s and 
Father Crespi’s diaries, and he says it is wonderful how 
the wild savages gave food to every one who came.” 

“Felipe! you are talking too much,” said the 
Senora’s voice, in the doorway ; and as she spoke 
she looked reproachfully at Ramona. If she had 
said in words, “ See how unfit you are to be trusted 
with Felipe. No wonder I do not leave the room 
except when I must ! ” her meaning could not have 
been plainer. Ramona felt it keenly, and not with- 
out some misgiving that it was deserved. 

“ Oh, dear Felipe, has it hurt you ? ” she said tim- 
idly; and to the Sefiora, “Indeed, Senora, he has 
been speaking but a very few moments, very low.” 

“ Go call Alessandro, Ramona, will you ? ” said 
Felipe. “Tell him to bring his violin. I think I 
will go to sleep if he plays.” 

A long search Ramona had for Alessandro. Every- 
body had seen him a few minutes ago, but nobody 
knew where he was now. Kitchens, sheepfolds, 
vineyards, orchards, Juan Can’s bedchamber, — Ra- 
mona searched them all in vain. At last, standing 
at the foot of the veranda steps, and looking down 
the garden, she thought she saw figures moving under 
the willows by the washing-stones. 


106 


RAMONA. 


“ Can he be there ? ” she said. “ What can he be 
doing there ? Who is it with him ? ” And she walked 
down the path, calling, “ Alessandro ! Alessandro ! ” 

At the first sound, Alessandro sprang from the 
side of his companion, and almost before the second 
syllables had been said, was standing face to face 
with Ramona. 

“Here I am, Seiiorita. Does Senor Felipe want 
me ? I have my violin herei I thought perhaps 
he would like to have me play to him in the twi- 
light.” 

“ Yes,” replied Ramona, “ he wishes to hear you. I 
have been looking everywhere for you.” As she 
spoke, she was half unconsciously peering beyond 
into the dusk, to see whose figure it was, slowly 
moving by the brook. 

Nothing escaped Alessandro’s notice where Ra- 
mona was concerned. “It is Margarita,” he said 
instantly. “Does the Senorita want her? Shall I 
run and call her ? ” 

“No,” said Ramona, again displeased, she knew 
not why, nor in fact knew she was displeased ; “ no, 
I was not looking for her. What is she doing 
there ? ” 

“ She is washing,” replied Alessandro, innocently. 

“Washing at this time of day!” thought Ramona, 
severely. “ A mere pretext. I shall watch Margarita, 
The Senora would never allow this sort of thing.” 
And as she walked back to the house by Alessandro’s 
side, she meditated whether or no she would herself 
speak to Margarita on the subject in the morning. 

Margarita, in the mean time, was also having her 
season of reflections not the pleasantest. As she 
soused her aprons up and down in the water, she said 
to herself, “ I may as well finish them now I am 
here. How provoking! I’ve no more than got a 
word with him, than she must come, calling him 


RAMONA. 


107 


away. And he flies as if he was shot on an arrow, 
at the first word. I ’d like to know what ’s come 
over the man, to be so different. If I could ever get 
a good half-hour with him alone, I ’d soon find out. 
Oh, but his eyes go through me, through and through 
me ! I know he ’s an Indian, but what do I care for 
that. He ’s a million times handsomer than Senor 
Felipe. And Juan Jos4 said the other day he ’d 
make enough better head shepherd than old Juan 
Can, if Senor Felipe ’d only see it ; and why 
should n’t he get to see it, if Alessandro ’s here all 
summer ? ” And before the aprons were done, Mar- 
garita had a fine air-castle up : herself and Alessandro 
married, a nice little house, children playing in the 
sunshine below the artichoke-patch, she herself still 
working for the Senora. “And the Senorita will 
perhaps marry Senor Felipe,” she added, her thoughts 
moving more hesitatingly. “ He worships the ground 
she walks on. Anybody with quarter of a blind eye 
can see that; but maybe the Senora would not let 
him. Anyhow, Senor Felipe is sure to have a wife, 
and so and so.” It was an innocent, girlish castle, built 
of sweet and natural longings, for which no maiden, 
high or low, need blush ; but its foundations were 
laid in sand, on which would presently beat such 
winds and floods as poor little Margarita never 
dreamed of. 

The next day Margarita and Bamona both went 
about their day’s business with a secret purpose in 
their hearts. Margarita had made up her mind 
that before night she would, by fair means or foul, 
have a good long talk with Alessandro. “He was 
fond enough of me last year, I know,” she said to 
herself, recalling some of the dances and the good- 
night leave-takings at that time. “It ’s because he is 
so put upon by everybody now. What with Juan 
Can in one bed sending for him to prate to him about 


108 


RAMONA. 


the sheep, and Senor Felipe in another sending for 
him to fiddle him to sleep, and all the care of the 
sheep, it ’s a wonder he ’s not out of his mind alto- 
gether. But I ’ll find a chance, or make one, before 
this day’s sun sets. If I can once get a half-hour 
with him, I ’in not afraid after that ; I know the way 
it is with men ! ” said the confident Margarita, who, 
truth being told, it must be admitted, did indeed 
know a great deal about the way it is with men, 
and could be safely backed, in a fair field, with a 
fair start, against any girl of her age and station in 
the country. So much for Margarita’s purpose, at the 
outset of a day destined to be an eventful one in her 
life. 

Bamona’s purpose was no less clear. She had 
decided, after some reflection, that she would not 
speak to the Senora about Margarita’s having been 
under the willows with Alessandro in the previous 
evening, but would watch her carefully and see 
whether there were any farther signs of her attempt- 
ing to have clandestine interviews with him. 

This course she adopted, she thought, chiefly be- 
cause of her affection for Margarita, and her unwill- 
ingness to expose her to the Seiiora’s displeasure, 
which would be great, and terrible to bear. She was 
also aware of an unwillingness to bring anything to 
light which would reflect ever so lightly upon Ales- 
sandro in the Senora’s estimation. “ And he is not 
really to blame,” thought Ramona, “ if a girl follows 
him about and makes free with him. She must have 
seen him at the willows, and gone down there on 
purpose, to meet him, making a pretext of the wash- 
ing. For she never in this world would have gone 
to wash in the dark, as he must have known, if he 
were not a fool. He is not the sort of person, it 
seems to me, to be fooling with maids. He seems as 
full of grave thought as Father Salvierderra. If I see 


RAMONA. 


109 


anything amiss in Margarita to-day, I shall speak to 
her myself, kindly but firmly, and tell her to conduct 
herself more discreetly.” 

Then, as the other maiden’s had done, Ramona’s 
thoughts, being concentrated on Alessandro, altered 
a little from their first key, and grew softer and more 
imaginative ; strangely enough, taking some of the 
phrases, as it were, out of the other maiden’s mouth. 

“ I never saw such eyes as Alessandro has,” she 
said. “ I wonder any girl should make free with 
him. Even I myself, when he fixes his eyes on me, 
feel a constraint. There is something in them like 
the eyes of a saint, so solemn, yet so mild. I am 
sure he is very good.” 

And so the day opened ; and if there were abroad 
in the valley that day a demon of mischief, let loose 
to tangle the skeins of human affairs, things could 
not have fallen out better for his purpose than they 
did ; for it was not yet ten o’clock of the morning, 
when Ramona, sitting at her embroidery in the ve- 
randa, half hid behind the vines, saw Alessandro 
going with his pruning-knife in his hand towards the 
artichoke-patch at the east of the garden, and joining 
the almond orchard. “ I wonder what he is going 
to do there,” she thought. “He can’t be going to cut 
willows;” and her eyes followed him till he disap- 
peared among the trees. 

Ramona was not the only one who saw this. 
Margarita, looking from the east window of Father 
Salvierderra’s room, saw the same thing. “ Now ’s 
my chance ! ” she said ; and throwing a white reboso 
coquettishly over her head, she slipped around the 
corner of the house. She ran swiftly in the direction 
in which Alessandro had gone. The sound of her 
steps reached Ramona, who, lifting her eyes, took in 
the whole situation at a glance. There was no pos- 
sible duty, no possible message, which would take 


110 


RAMONA. 


Margarita there. Eamona’s cheeks blazed with a dis- 
proportionate indignation. Bat she bethought herself, 
“ Ah, the Senora may have sent her to call Alessan- 
dro ! ” She rose, went to the door of Felipe’s room, 
and looked in. The Senora was sitting in the chair 
by Felipe’s bed, with her eyes closed. Felipe was 
dozing. The Senora opened her eyes, and .looked 
inquiringly at Eamona. 

“Do you know where Margarita is ? ” said Eamona. 

“ In Father Salvierderra’s room, or else in the 
kitchen helping Marda,” replied the Senora, in a 
whisper. “ I told her to help Marda with the 
peppers this morning.” 

Eamona nodded, returned to the veranda, and 
sat down to decide on her course of action. Then 
she rose again, and going to Father Salvierderra’s 
room, looked in. The room was still in disorder. 
Margarita had left her work there unfinished. The 
color deepened on Eamona’s cheeks. It was strange 
how accurately she divined each process of the inci- 
dent. “ She saw him from this window,” said Ea- 
mona, “ and has run after him. It is shameful. I 
will go and call her back, and let her see that I saw 
it all. It is high time that this was stopped.” 

But once back in the veranda, Eamona halted, and 
seated herself in her chair again. The idea of seem- 
ing to spy was revolting to her. 

“ I wiil wait here till she comes back,” she said, 
and took up her embroidery. But she could not 
work. As the minutes went slowly by, she sat with 
her eyes fixed on the almond orchard, where first 
Alessandro and then Margarita had disappeared. At 
last she could bear it no longer. It seemed to her 
already a very long time. It was not in reality very 
long, — a half hour or so, perhaps ; but it was long 
enough for Margarita to have made great headway, 
as she thought, in her talk with Alessandro, and for 


RAMONA. 


Ill 


things to have reached just the worst possible crisis 
at which they could have been surprised, when Ea- 
mona suddenly appeared at the orchard gate, saying 
in a stern tone, “ Margarita, you are wanted in the 
house ! ” At a bad crisis, indeed, for everybody con- 
cerned. The picture which Eamona had seen, as she 
reached the gate, was this : Alessandro, standing 'with 
his back against the fence, his right hand hanging 
listlessly down, with the priming-knife in it, his left 
hand in the hand of Margarita, who stood close to 
him, looking up in his face, with a half-saucy, half- 
loving expression. What made bad matters worse, 
was, that at the first sight of Eamona, Alessandro 
snatched his hand from Margarita’s, and tried to draw 
farther off from her, looking at her with an expres- 
sion which, even in her anger, Eamona could not help 
seeing was one of disgust and repulsion. And if 
Eamona saw it, how much more did Margarita ! Saw 
it, felt it, as only a woman repulsed in presence of an- 
other woman can see and feel. The whole thing was 
over in the twinkling of an eye ; the telling it takes 
double, treble the time of the happening. Before 
Alessandro was fairly aware what bad befallen, Ea- 
mona and Margarita were disappearing from view 
under the garden trellis, — Eamona walking in ad- 
vance, stately, silent, and Margarita following, sulky, 
abject in her gait, but with a raging whirlwind in her 
heart. 

It had taken only the twinkling of an eye, but it 
had told Margarita the truth. Alessandro too. 

“ My God 1 ” he said, “ the Senorita thought me 
making love to that girl. May the fiends get her ! 
The Senorita looked at me as if I were a dog. How 
could she think a man would look at a woman after 
he had once seen her ! And I can never, never speak 
to her to tell her ! Oh, this cannot be borne ! ” And 
in his rage Alessandro threw his pruniug-knife whirl- 


112 


RAMONA . 


ing through the air so fiercely, it sank to the hilt in 
one of the old olive-trees. He wished he were dead. 
He was minded to flee the place. How could he 
ever look the Senorita in the face again ! 

“ Perdition take that girl ! ” he said over and oyer 
in his helpless despair. An ill outlook for Margarita 
after this ; and the girl had not deserved it. 

In Margarita’s heart the pain was more clearly de- 
fined. She had seen Ramona a half-second before 
Alessandro had ; and dreaming no special harm, ex- 
cept a little confusion at being seen thus standing 
with him, — for she would tell the Senorita all about 
it when matters had gone a little farther, — had not 
let go of Alessandro’s hand. But the next second 
she had seen in his face a look ; oh, she would never 
forget it, never ! That she should live to have had 
any man look at her like that ! At the first glimpse 
of the Senorita, all the blood in his body seemed 
rushing into his face, and he had snatched his hand 
away, — for it was Margarita herself that had taken 
his hand, not he hers, — had snatched his hand away, 
and pushed her from him, till she had nearly fallen. 
All this might have been borne, if it had been only 
a fear of the Senorita’s seeing them, which had made 
him do it. But Margarita knew a great deal better 
than that. That one swift, anguished, shame-smitten, 
appealing, worshipping look on Alessandro’s face, as 
his eyes rested on Ramona, was like a flash of light 
into Margarita’s consciousness. Far better than Ales- 
sandro himself, she now knew his secret. In her 
first rage she did not realize either the gulf between 
herself and Ramona, or that between Ramonaf and 
Alessandro. Her jealous rage was as entire as if they 
had all been equals together. She lost her head alto- 
gether, and there was embodied insolence in the tone 
in which she said presently, “ Did the Senorita want 


RAMONA, 


113 


Turning swiftly on her, and looking her full in the 
eye, Ramona said : “ I saw you go to the orchard, 
Margarita, and I knew what you went for. I knew 
that you were at the brook last night with Alessan- 
dro. All I wanted of you was to tell you that if I 
see anything more of this sort, I shall speak to the 
Senora.” 

“ There is no harm,” muttered Margarita, sullenly. 
“ I don’t know what the Seiiorita means.” 

“You know very well, Margarita,” • retorted Ra- 
mona. “You know that the Senora permits nothing 
of the kind. Be careful, now, what you do.” And with 
that the two separated, Ramona returning to the 
veranda and her embroidery, and Margarita to her 
neglected duty of making the good Father’s bed. But 
each girl’s heart was hot and unhappy ; and Marga- 
rita’s would have been still hotter and unhappier, had 
she heard the words which were being spoken on the 
veranda a little later. . 

After a few minutes of his blind rage at Marga- 
rita, himself, and fate generally, Alessandro, recovering 
his senses, had ingeniously persuaded himself that, as 
the Senora’s and also the Senorita’s servant, for the 
time being, he owed it to them to explain the situ- 
ation in which he had just been found. Just what 
he was to say he did not know ; but no sooner had 
the thought struck him, than he set off at full speed 
for the house, hoping to find Ramona on the veranda, 
where he knew she spent all her time when not with 
Senor Felipe. 

When Ramona saw him coming, she lowered her 
eyes, and was absorbed in her embroidery. She did 
not wish to look at him. 

The footsteps stopped. She knew he was standing 
at the steps. She would not look up. She thought 
if she did not, he would go away. She did not know 
either the Indian or the lover nature. After a time, 
8 


114 


RAMONA. 


finding the consciousness of the soundless presence 
intolerable, she looked up, and surprised on Alessan- 
dro’s face a gaze which had, in its long interval of 
freedom from observation, been slowly gathering up 
into it all the passion of the man’s soul, as a burning- 
glass draws the fire of the sun’s rays. Involuntarily 
a low cry burst from Eamona’s lips, and she sprang to 
her feet. 

“ Ah ! did I frighten the Senorita ? Forgive. I 
have been waiting here a long time to speak to her. 
I wished to say — ” 

Suddenly Alessandro discovered that he did not 
know what he wished to say. 

As suddenly, Eamona discovered that she knew all 
he wished to say. But she spoke not, only looked at 
him searchingly. 

“ Senorita,” he began again, “ I would never be 
unfaithful to my duty to the Senora, and to you.” 

“ I believe you, Alessandro,” said Eamona. “ It is 
not necessary to say more.” 

At these words a radiant joy spread over Alessan- 
dro’s face. He had not hoped for this. He felt, 
rather than heard, that Eamona understood him. He 
felt, for the first time, a personal relation between him- 
self and her. 

“ It is well,” he said, in the brief phrase so fre- 
quent with his people. “It is well.” And with a 
reverent inclination of his head, he walked away. 
Margarita, still dawdling surlily over her work in 
Father Salvierderra’s room, heard Alessandro’s voice, 
and running to discover to whom he was speaking, 
caught these last words. Peering from behind a cur- 
tain, she saw the look with which he said them ; 
saw also the expression on Eamona’s face as she 
listened. 

Margarita clenched her hands. The seed had blos- 
somed. Eamona had an enemy. 


RAMONA. 


115 


“ Oh, but I am glad Father Salvierderra has gone !” 
said the girl, bitterly. “ He ’d have had this out of 
me, spite o"f everything. I have n’t got to confess 
for a year^ maybe ; and much can. happen in that 
time.” 

Much, indeed 1 


VIII. 


F ELIPE gained but slowly. The relapse was 
indeed, as Father Salvierderra had said, worse 
than the original attack. Day after day he lay with 
little apparent change; no pain, but a weakness so 
great that it was almost harder to bear than sharp 
suffering would have been. Nearly every day Ales- 
sandro was sent for to play or sing to him. It seemed 
to be the only thing that roused him from his half 
lethargic state. Sometimes he would talk with 
Alessandro on matters relative to the estate, and show 
for a few moments something like his old animation; 
but he was soon tired, and would close his eyes, say- 
ing : “ I will speak with you again about this, Ales- 
sandro ; I am going to sleep now. Sing.” 

The Seiiora, seeing Felipe’s enjoyment of Alessan- 
dro’s presence, soon came to have a warm feeling 
towards him herself ; moreover, she greatly liked his 
quiet reticence. There was hardly a surer road to the 
Senora’s favor, for man or woman, than to be chary of 
speech and reserved in demeanor. She had an in- 
stinct of kinship to all that was silent, self-contained, 
mysterious, in human nature. The more she observed 
Alessandro, the more she trusted and approved him. 
Luckily for J uan Can, he did not know how matters 
were working in his mistress’s mind. If he had, he 
would have been in a fever of apprehension, and would 
have got at swords’ points with Alessandro imme- 
diately. On the contrary, all unaware of the real 
situation of affairs, and never quite sure that the 
Mexican he dreaded might not any day hear of his 


RAMONA. 


117 


misfortune, and appear, asking for the place, he took 
every opportunity to praise Alessandro to the Senora. 
She never visited his bedside that he had not 
something to say in favor of the lad, as he called 
him. 

“ Truly, Senora,” he said again and again, “ I do 
•marvel where the lad got so much knowledge, at his age. 
He is like an old hand at the sheep business. He 
knows more than any shepherd I have, — a deal more ; 
and it is not only of sheep. He has had experience, 
too, in the handling of cattle. Juan Jose has been * 
beholden to him more than once, already, for a remedy 
of which he knew not. And such modesty, withal. I 
knew not that there were such Indians ; surely there 
cannot be many such.” 

“ No, I fancy not,” the Senora would reply, absently. 

“ His father is a man of intelligence, and has trained 
his son well.” 

“ There is nothing he is not ready to do,” continued 
Alessandro’s eulogist. “He is as handy with tools 
as if he had been ’prenticed to a carpenter. He has 
made me a new splint for my leg, which w r as a 
relief like salve to a wound, so much easier was it 
than before. He is a good lad, — a good lad.” 

None of these sayings of Juan’s were thrown away 
on the Senora. More and more closely she watched 
Alessandro; and the very thing which Juan had feared, 
and which he had thought to avert by having Ales- 
sandro his temporary substitute, was slowly coming to 
pass. The idea was working in the Seiiora’s mind, that 
she might do a worse thing than engage this young, 
strong, active, willing man to remain permanently in 
her employ. The possibility of an Indian’s being so 
born and placed that he would hesitate about becom- 
ing permanently a servant even of the Senora Moreno, 
did not occur to her. However, she would do nothing 
hastily. There would be plenty of time before Juan 


118 


RAMONA. 


Can’s leg was well. She would study the young man 
more. In the mean time, she would cause Felipe to 
think of the idea, and propose it. 

So one day she said to Felipe : “ What a voice that 
Alessandro has, Felipe. We shall miss his music 
sorely when he goes, shall we not ? ” 

“ He ’s not going ! ” exclaimed Felipe, startled. 

“ Oh, no, no ; not at present. He agreed to stay till 
Juan Can was about again ; but that will be not more 
than six weeks now, or eight, I suppose. You for- 
get how time has flown while you have been lying 
here ill, my son.” 

“ True, true ! ” said Felipe. “ Is it really a month 
already ? ” and he sighed. 

“ J uan Can tells me that the lad has a marvellous 
knowledge for one of his years,” continued the Senora. 
“ He says he is as skilled with cattle as with sheep ; 
knows more than any shepherd we have on the place. 
He seems wonderfully quiet and well-mannered. I 
never saw an Indian who had such behavior.” 

“ Old Pablo is just like him,” said Felipe. “ It 
was natural enough, living so long with Father Peyri. 
And I ’ve seen other Indians, too, with a good deal 
the same manner as Alessandro. It ’s born in 
them.” 

“ I can ’t bear the idea of Alessandro’s going away. 
But by that time you will be well and strong,” said 
the Senora ; “ you would not miss him then, would 
you ? ” 

“Yes, I would, too!” said Felipe, pettishly. He 
was still weak enough to be childish. “ I like him 
about me. He ’s worth a dozen times as much as any 
man we ’ve got. But I don’t suppose money could 
hire him to stay on any ranch.” 

“ Were you thinking of hiring him permanently ? ” 
asked the Senora, in a surprised tone. “ I don’t 
doubt you could do so if you wished. They are all 


RAMONA. 


119 


poor, I suppose ; he would not work with the shearers 
if he were not poor.” 

“ Oh, it is n’t that,” said Felipe, impatiently. “ Yon 
can’t understand, because you ’ve never been among 
them. But they are just as proud as we are. Some 
of them, I mean ; such men as old Pablo. They 
shear sheep for money just as I sell wool for money. 
There is n’t so much difference. Alessandro’s men in 
the band obey him, and all the men in the village 
obey Pablo, just as implicitly as my men here obey 
me. Faith, much more so !” added Felipe, laughing. 
“ You can’t understand it, mother, but it ’s so. I 
am not at all sure I could offer Alessandro Assis 
money enough to tempt him to stay here as my 
servant.” 

The Senora’s nostrils dilated in scorn. “No, I do 
not understand it.” she said. “ Most certainly I do 
not understand it. Of what is it that these noble 
lords of villages are so proud ? their ancestors, — 
naked savages less than a hundred years ago? Naked 
savages they themselves too, to-day, if we had not 
come here to teach and civilize them. The race was 
never meant for anything but servants. That was 
all the Fathers ever expected to make of them, — 
good, faithful Catholics, and contented laborers in the 
fields. Of course there are always exceptional in- 
stances, and I think, myself, Alessandro is one. I 
don’t believe, however, he is so exceptional, but that 
if you were to offer him, for instance, the same wages 
you pay Juan Can, he would jump at the chance of 
staying on the place.” 

“Well, I shall think about it,” said Felipe. “I ’d 
like nothing better than to have him here always. 
He ’s a fellow I heartily like. I ’ll think about it.” 

Which was all the Senora wanted done at present. 

Eamona had chanced to come in as this conversa- 
tion was going on. Hearing Alessandro’s name, she 


120 


RAMONA. 


seated herself at the window, looking out, but listen- 
ing intently. The month had done much for Ales- 
sandro with Ramona, though neither Alessandro nor 
Ramona knew it. It had done this much, — that 
Ramona knew always when Alessandro was near, 
that she trusted him, and that she had ceased to 
think of him as an Indian any more than when she 
thought of Felipe, she thought of him as a Mexican. 
Moreover, seeing the two men frequently together, she 
had admitted to herself, as Margarita had done before 
her, that Alessandro was far the handsomer man of the 
two. This Ramona did not like to admit, but she 
could not help it. 

“ I wish Felipe were as tall and strong as Alessan- 
dro,” she said to herself many a time. “ I do not see 
why* he could not have been. I wonder if the Senora 
sees how much handsomer Alessandro is.” 

When Felipe said that he did not believe he could 
offer Alessandro Assis money enough to tempt him 
to stay on the place, Ramona opened her lips sud- 
denly, as if to speak, then changed her mind, and re- 
mained silent. She had sometimes displeased the 
Senora by taking part in conversations between her 
and her son. 

Felipe saw the motion, but he also thought it wiser 
to wait till after his mother had left the room, before 
he asked Ramona what she was on the point of say- 
ing. As soon as the Senora went out, he said, 
“ What was it, Ramona, you were going to say just 
now ? ” 

Ramona colored. She had decided not to say it. 

“ Tell me, Ramona,” persisted Felipe. “ You were 
going to say something about Alessandro’s staying ; 
I know you were.” 

Ramona did not answer. For the first time in hex 
life she found herself embarrassed before Felipe. 

" Don’t you like Alessandro ? ” said Felipe. 


RAMONA. 


121 


u Oh, yes ! ” replied Ramona, with instant eagerness. 
“ I t was not that at all. I like him very much.” But 
then she stopped. 

“Well, what is it, then? Have you heard any- 
thing on the place about his staying ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no ; not a word ! ” said Ramona. “ Every- 
body understands that he is here only till Juan Can 
gets well. But you said you did not believe you 
could offer him money enough to tempt him to stay.” 

“ Well,” said Felipe, inquiringly, “ I do not. Do 
you?” 

“ I think he would like to stay,” said Ramona, hesi- 
tatingly. “ That was what I was going to say.” 

“What makes you think so ? ” asked Felipe. 

“ I don’t know,” Ramona said, still more hesitat- 
ingly. How that she had said it, she was sorry. Felipe 
looked curiously at her. Hesitancy like this, doubts, 
uncertainty as to her impressions, were not character- 
istic of Ramona. A flitting something which was far 
from being suspicion or jealousy, and yet was of kin 
to them both, went through Felipe’s mind, — went 
through so swiftly that he was scarce conscious of it ; 
if he had been, he would have scorned himself. Jealous 
of an Indian sheep-shearer ? Impossible! Neverthe- 
less, the flitting something left a trace, and prevented 
Felipe from forgetting the trivial incident ; and after 
this, it was certain that Felipe would observe Ramona 
more closely than he had done; would weigh her 
words and actions ; and if she should seem by a shade 
altered in either, would watch still more closely. 
Meshes were closing around Ramona. Three watch- 
ers of her every look and act, — Alessandro in pure 
love, Margarita in jealous hate, Felipe in love and 
perplexity. Only the Seiiora observed her not. If 
she had, matters might have turned out very differ- 
ently ; for the Seiiora was clear-sighted, rarely mis- 
taken in her reading of people’s motives, never long 


122 


RAMONA. 


deceived ; but her observing and discriminating pow- 
ers were not in focus, so far as Ramona was concerned. 
The girl was curiously outside of the Senora’s real 
life. Shelter, food, clothes, all external needs, in so 
far as her means allowed, the Senora would, with- 
out fail, provide for the child her sister had left in 
her hands as a trust ; but a personal relation with her, 
a mother’s affection, or even interest and acquain- 
tance, no. The Senora had not that to give. And 
if she had it not, was she to blame ? What could she 
do ? Years ago Father Salvierderra had left off remon- 
strating with her on this point. “ Is there more I 
should do for the child ? Do you see aught lacking, 
aught amiss ? ” the Senora would ask, conscientiously, 
but with pride. And the Father, thus inquired of, 
could not point out a duty which had been neglected. 

“ You do not love her, my daughter,” he said. 

“No.” Senora Moreno’s truthfulness was of the 
adamantine order. “ No, I do not. I cannot. One 
cannot love by act of will.” 

“ That is true,” the Father would say sadly ; “ but 
affection may be cultivated.” 

“Yes, if it exists,” was the Senora’s constant an- 
swer. “ But in this case it does not exist. I shall 
never love Ramona. Only at your command, and 
to save my sister a sorrow, I took her. I will never 
fail in my duty to her.” 

It was of no use. As well say to the mountain, 
“ Be cast into the sea,” as try to turn the Senora’s heart 
in any direction whither it did not of itself tend. 
All that Father Salvierderra could do, was to love 
Ramona the more himself, which he did heartily, 
and more and more each year, and small marvel at it ; 
for a gentler, sweeter maiden never drew breath than 
this same Ramona, who had been all these years, save 
for Felipe, lonely in the Senora Moreno’s house. 

Three watchers of Ramona now. If there had been 


RAMONA. 


123 


ft fourth, and that fourth herself, matters might have 
turned out differently. But how should Ramona watch ? 
How should Ramona know ? Except for her one 
year at school with the nuns, she had never been 
away from the Senora’s house. Felipe was the only 
young man she had known, — Felipe, her brother since 
she was five years old. 

There were no gayeties in the Senora Moreno’s 
home. Felipe, when he needed them, went one day’s 
journey, or two, or three, to get them ; went as often 
as he liked. Ramona never went. How many times 
she had longed to go to Santa Barbara, or to Monte- 
rey, or Los Angeles ; but to have asked the Senora’s 
permission to accompany her on some of her now in- 
frequent journeys to these places would have required 
more courage than Ramona possessed. It was now 
three years since she left the convent school, but she 
was still as fresh from the hands of the nuns as on 
the day when, with loving tears, they had kissed her 
in farewell. The few romances and tales and bits of 
verse she had read were of the most innocent and 
old-fashioned kind, and left her hardly less childlike 
than before. This childlikeness, combined with her 
happy temperament, had kept her singularly contented 
in her monotonous life. She had fed the birds, taken 
care of the flowers, kept the chapel in order, helped 
in light household work, embroidered, sung, and, as 
the Senora eight years before had bade her do, said 
her prayers and pleased Father Salvierderra. 

By processes strangely unlike, she and Alessandro 
had both been kept strangely free from thoughts of 
love and of marriage, — he by living in the shadow, 
and she by living in the sun ; his heart and thoughts 
filled with perplexities and fears, hers filled by a 
placid routine of light and easy tasks, and the out- 
door pleasures of a child. 

As the days went on, and Felipe still remained 


124 


RAMONA. 


feeble, Alessandro meditated a bold stroke. Each 
time that he went to Felipe’s room to sing or to play, 
he felt himself oppressed by the air. An hour of it 
made him uncomfortable. The room was large, and 
had two windows, and the door was never shut ; yet 
the air seemed to Alessandro stifling. 

“ I should be as ill as the Senor Felipe, if I had to 
stay in that room, and a bed is a weakening thing, 
enough to pull the strongest man down,” said Ales- 
sandro to Juan Can one day. “ Do you think I should 
anger them if I asked them to let me bring Senor 
Felipe out to the veranda and put him on a bed of 
my making ? I ’d wager my head I ’d put him on his 
feet in a week.” 

“ And if you did that, you might ask the Senora for 
the half of the estate, and get it, lad,” replied Juan. 
Seeing the hot blood darkening in Alessandro’s face 
at his words, he hastened to add, “ Do not be so hot- 
blooded. I meant not that you would ask any reward 
for doing it ; I was only thinking what joy it would 
be to the Senora to see Senor Felipe on his feet again. 
It has often crossed my thoughts that if he did not 
get up from this sickness the Senora would not be 
long behind- him. It is but for him that she lives. 
And who would have the estate in that case, I have 
never been able to find out.” 

“ Would it not be the Senorita ? ” asked Alessandro. 

J uan Can laughed an ugly laugh. “ Ha, ha ! Let 
the Senora hear you say that ! ” he said. “ Faith, it 
will be little the Senorita gets more than enough 
for her bread, may be, out of the Moreno estate. Hark 
ye, Alessandro ; if you will not tell, I will tell you the 
story of the Senorita. You know she is not of the 
Moreno blood ; is no relation of theirs.” 

“Yes,” said Alessandro; “Margarita has said to me 
that the Senorita Ramona was only the foster-child 
of the Senora Moreno.” 


RAMONA. 


125 


“Foster-child !” repeated Juan Can, contemptuously, 
“ There is something to the tale I know not, nor ever 
could find out ; for when I was in Monterey the 
Ortegna house was shut, and I could not get speech 
of any of their people. But this much I know, that it 
was the Seiiora Ortegna that had the girl first in keep- 
ing; and there was a scandalous tale about her birth.” 

If Juan Can’s eyes had not been purblind with 
old age, he would have seen that in Alessandro’s face 
which would have made him choose his words more 
carefully. But he went on : “ It was after the Seiiora 
Ortegna was buried, that our Seiiora returned, bring- 
ing this child with her ; and I do assure you, lad, I 
have seen the Seiiora look at her many a time as if 
she wished her dead. And it is a shame, for she was 
always as fair and good a child as the saints ever 
saw. But a stain on the blood, a stain on the blood, 
lad, is a bitter thing in a house. This much I know, 
her mother was an Indian. Once when I was in the 
chapel, behind the big Saint Joseph there, I overheard 
the Seiiora say as much. She was talking to Father 
Salvierderra, and she said, ‘ If the child had only the 
one blood in her veins, it would be different. I like 
not these crosses with Indians.’” 

If Alessandro had been civilized, he would at this 
word “Indian” have bounded to his feet. Being 
Alessandro, he stood if possible stiller than before, 
and said in a low voice, “ How know you it was the 
mother that was the Indian ? ” 

* Juan laughed again, maliciously :“ Ha, it is the 
Ortegna face she has ; and that Ortegna, why, he was 
the scandal byword of the whole coast. There was 
not a decent woman would have spoken to him, except 
for his wife’s sake.” 

“ But did you not say that it was in the Seiiora 
Ortegna’s keeping that the child was ? ” asked Ales- 
sandro, breathing harder and faster each moment 


126 


RAMONA. 


now; stupid old Juan Can so absorbed in relisb of 
his gossip, that he noticed nothing. 

“ Ay, ay. So I said,” he went on ; “ and so it was. 
There be such saints, you know ; though the Lord 
knows if she had been minded to give shelter to all 
her husband’s bastards, she might have taken lease of 
a church to hold them. But there was a story about 
a man’s coming with this infant and leaving it in the 
Senora’s room ; and she, poor lady, never having had 
a child of her own, did warm to it at first sight, and 
kept it with her to the last ; and I wager me, a hard 
time she had to get our Senora to take the child when 
she died ; except that it was to spite Ortegna, I think 
our Senora would as soon the child had been dead.” 

“Has she not treated her kindly ?” asked Alessandro, 
in a husky voice. 

Juan Can’s pride resented this question. “ Do you 
suppose the Senora Moreno would do an unkindness 
to one under her roof ? ” he asked loftily. “ The 
Senorita has been always, in all things, like Senor 
Felipe himself. It was so that she promised the 
Senora Ortegna, I have heard.” 

“ Does the Senorita know all this ? ” asked Ales- 
sandro. 

Juan Can crossed himself. “Saints save us, no !” 
he exclaimed. “ I ’ll not forget, to my longest day, 
what it cost me, once I spoke in her hearing, when 
she was yet Small. I did not know she heard ; but 
she went to the Senora, asking who was her mother. 
And she said I had said her mother was no good,* 
which in faith I did, and no wonder. And the Senora 
came to me, and said she, ‘ Juan Canito, you have 
been a long time in our house ; but if ever I hear of 
your mentioning aught concerning the Senorita Ra- 
mona, on this estate or anywhere else in the country, 
that day you leave my service ! ’ — And you’d not do 
me the ill-turn to speak of it, Alessandro, now ? ” said 


RAMONA. 


127 


the old man, anxiously. “ My tongue runs away with 
me, lying here on this cursed bed, w T ith nothing to 
do, — an active man like me.” 

“No, 1 11 not speak of it, you may be assured,” 
said Alessandro, walking away slowly. 

“Here ! Here ! ” called Juan. “What about that 
plan you had for making a bed for Senor Felipe on 
the veranda ? Was it of raw-hide you meant ? ” 

“ Ah, I had forgotten,” said Alessandro, returning. 
“ Yes, that was it. There is great virtue in a raw- 
hide, tight stretched ; my father says that it is the 
only bed the Fathers would ever sleep on, in the 
Mission days. I myself like the ground even better ; 
but my father sleeps always on the raw-hide. He 
says it keeps him well. Do you think I might speak 
of it to the Senora ? ” 

“ Speak of it to Senor Felipe himself,” said Juan. 
“ It will be as he says. He rules this place now, from 
beginning to end ; and it is but yesterday I held him 
on my knee. It is soon that the old are pushed to 
the wall, Alessandro.” 

“ Nay, Juan Canito,” replied Alessandro, kindly. 
“It is not so. My father is many years older than 
you are, and he rules our people to-day as firmly as 
ever. I myself obey him, as if I were a lad still.” 

“ What else, then, but a lad do you call yourself, I 
wonder,” thought Juan; but he answered, “It is not 
so with us. The old are not held in such reverence.” 

“ That is not well,” replied Alessandro. “We have 
been taught differently. There is an old man in our 
village who is many, many years older than my 
father. He helped to carry the mortar at the building 
of the San Diego Mission, I do not know how many 
years ago. He is long past a hundred years of age. 
He is blind and childish, and cannot walk ; but he is 
cared for by every one. And we bring him in our 
arms to every council, and set him by my father’s 


128 


RAMONA. 


side. He talks very foolishly sometimes, but my 
father will not let him be interrupted. He says it 
brings bad luck to affront the aged. We will pres- 
ently be aged ourselves.” 

“ Ay, ay ! ” said Juan, sadly. “ We must all come 
to it. It is beginning to look not so far off to me ! ” 

Alessandro stared, no less astonished at J uan Can’s 
unconscious revelation of his standard of measure- 
ment of years than Juan had been at his. “Faith, 
old man, what name dost give to yourself to-day \ ” 
he thought ; but went on with the topic of the raw- 
hide bed. “ I may not so soon get speech with 
Senor Felipe,” he said. “ It is usually when he is 
sleepy that I go to play for him or to sing. But it 
makes my heart heavy to see him thus languishing 
day by day, and all for lack of the air and the sun, 
I do believe, indeed, Juan.” 

“ Ask the Senorita, then,” said Juan. “ She has his 
ear at all times.” 

Alessandro made no answer. Why was it that it did 
not please him, — this suggestion of speaking to Ra- 
mona of his plan for Felipe’s welfare ? He could not 
have told ; but he did not wish to speak of it to her. 

“ I will speak to the Senora,” he said ; and as luck 
would have it, at that moment the Senora stood in 
the doorway, come to ask after Juan Can’s health. 

The suggestion of the raw-hide bed struck her favor- 
ably. She herself had, in her youth, heard much of 
their virtues, and slept on them. “ Yes,” she said, 
“ they are good. We will try it. It was only yester- 
day that Senor Felipe was complaining of the bed he 
lies on ; and when he was well, he thought nothing 
could be so good ; he brought it here, at a great price, 
for me, but 1 could not lie on it. It seemed as if it 
would throw me off as soon as I lay down ; it is a 
cheating device, like all these innovations the Ameri- 
cans have brought into the country. But Senor 


RAMONA. 


129 


Felipe till now thought it a luxury ; now he tosses 
on it, and says it is throwing him all the time.” 

Alessandro smiled, in spite of his reverence for the 
Senora. “ I once lay down on one myself, Senora,” he 
said, “ and that was what I said to my father. It was 
like a wild horse under me, making himself ready to 
buck. I thought perhaps the invention was of the 
saints, that men should not sleep too long,” 

“ There is a pile of raw-hides,” said Juan, “well 
cured, but not too stiff ; Juan Jos4 was to have sent 
them off to-day to be sold ; one of those will be just 
right. It must not be too dry.” 

“ The fresher the better,” said Alessandro, “ so it 
have no dampness. Shall I make the bed, Senora ? ” 
he asked, “ and will the Senora permit that I make it 
on the veranda ? I was just asking Juan Can if he 
thought I might be so bold as to ask you to let me 
bring Sen or Felipe into the outer air. With us, it is 
thought death to be shut up in walls, as he has been 
so long. Not till we are sure to die, do we go into 
the dark like that.” . 

The Senora hesitated. She did not share Alessan- 
dro’s prejudice in favor of fresh air. 

“ Night and day both ? ” she said. “ Surely it is 
not well to sleep out in the night ? ” 

“ That is the best of all, Senora,” replied Alessan- 
dro, earnestly. “ I beg the Senora to try it. If Senor 
Felipe have not mended greatly after the first night 
he have so slept, then Alessandro will be a liar.” 

“ No, only mistaken,” said the Senora, gently. She 
felt herself greatly drawn to this young man by his 
devotion, as she thought, to Felipe. “ When I die 
and leave Felipe here,” she had more than once said 
to herself, “ it would be a great good to him to have 
such a servant as this on the place.” 

“ Very well, Alessandro,” she replied ; “ make the 
bed, and we will try it at once.” 

9 


130 


RAMONA. 


This was early in the forenoon. The sun was still 
high in the west, when Ramona, sitting as usual in 
the veranda, at her embroidery, saw Alessandro com- 
ing, followed by two men, bearing the raw-hide bed. 

“ What can that be ? ’’ she said. “ Some new in- 
vention of Alessandro’s, but for what ? ” 

“ A bed for the Senor Felipe, Sehorita,” said Ales- 
sandro, running lightly up the steps. “ The Senora 
has given permission to place it here on the veranda, 
and Senor Felipe is to lie here day and night ; and 
it will be a marvel in your eyes how he will gain 
strength. It is the close room which is keeping him 
weak now ; he has no illness.” 

“ I believe that is the truth, Alessandro,” exclaimed 
Ramona ; “ I have been thinking the same thing. My 
head aches after I am in that room but an hour, and 
when I come here I am well. But the nights too, 
Alessandro ? Is it not harmful to sleep out in the 
night air ? ” 

“ Why, Sehorita ? ” asked Alessandro, simply. 

And Ramona had no answer, except, “I do not 
know ; I have always heard so.” 

“ My people do not think so,” replied Alessandro ; 
“ unless it is cold, we like it better. It is good, 
Sehorita, to look up at the sky in the night.” 

“ I should think it would be,” cried Ramona. “ I 
never thought of it. I should like to do it.” 

Alessandro was busy, with his face bent down, 
arranging the bedstead in a sheltered corner of the 
veranda. If his face had been lifted, Ramona would 
have seen a look on it that would have startled her 
more than the one she had surprised a few days pre- 
vious, after the incident with Margarita. All day 
there had. been coming and . going in Alessandro’s 
brain a confused procession of thoughts, vague yet 
intense. Put in words, they would have been found 
to be little more than ringing changes on this idea : 


RAMONA. 


131 


“The Senorita Eamona has Indian blood in her 
veins. The Senorita Eamona is alone. The Senora 
loves her not. Indian blood ! Indian blood ! ” These, 
or something like them, would have been the words ; 
but Alessandro did not put them in words. He only 
worked away on the rough posts for Senor Felipe’s 
bedstead, hammered, fitted, stretched the raw-hide 
and made it tight and firm, driving every nail, strik- 
ing every blow, with a bounding sense of exultant 
strength, as if there were suddenly all around him 
a new heavens and a new earth. 

Now, when he heard Eamona say suddenly in her 
girlish, eager tone, “ It must be ; I never thought 
of it ; I should like to try it,” these vague confused 
thoughts of the day, and the day’s bounding sense of 
exultant strength, combined in a quick vision before 
Alessandro’s eyes, — a vision of starry skies overhead, 
Eamona and himself together, looking up to them. 
But when he raised his head, all he said was, “ There, 
Senorita ! That is all firm, now. If Senor Felipe will 
let me lay him on this bed, he will sleep as he has 
not slept since he fell ill.” 

Eamona ran eagerly into Felipe’s room. “ The bed 
is all ready on the veranda,” she exclaimed. “ Shall 
Alessandro come in and carry you out ? ” 

Felipe looked up, startled. The Senora turned on 
Eamona that expression of gentle, resigned displeas- 
ure, which always hurt the girl’s sensitive nature far 
worse than anger. “ I had not spoken to Felipe yet 
of the change, Eamona,” she said. “ I supposed that 
Alessandro would have informed me when the bed 
was ready; I am sorry you came in so suddenly. 
Felipe is still very weak, you see.” 

“What is it ? What is it ?” exclaimed Felipe, im- 
patiently. 

As soon as it was explained to him, he was Eke a 
child in his haste to be moved. 


132 


RAMONA. 


“ That ’s just what I needed ! ” he exclaimed. “ This 
cursed bed racks every bone in my body, and I have 
longed for the sun more than ever a thirsty man 
longed for water. Bless you, Alessandro,” he went 
on, seeing Alessandro in the doorway. “ Come here, 
and take me up in those long arms of yours, and 
carry me quick. Already I feel myself better.” 

Alessandro lifted him as if he were a baby ; in- 
deed, it was but a light burden now, Felipe’s wasted 
body, for a man much less strong than Alessandro to 
lift. / 

Ramona, chilled and hurt, ran in advance, carrying 
pillows and blankets. As she began to arrange them 
on the couch, the Senora took them from her hands, 
saying, “ I will arrange them myself ; ” and waved 
Ramona away. 

It was a little thing. Ramona was well used to 
such. Ordinarily it would have given her no pain 
she could not conceal. But the girl’s nerves were 
not now in equilibrium. She had had hard work to 
keep back her tears at the first rebuff. This second 
was too much. She turned, and walked swiftly away, 
the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Alessandro saw it ; Felipe saw it. 

To Felipe the sight was, though painful, not a sur- 
prise. He knew but too well how often his mother 
hurt Ramona. All he thought now, in his weakness, 
was, “ Alas ! what a pity my mother does not love 
Ramona ! ” 

To Alessandro the sight was the one drop too 
much in the cup. As he stooped to lay Felipe on 
the bed, he trembled so that Felipe looked up, half 
afraid. 

“ Am I still so heavy, Alessandro ? ” he said, smiling. 

“ It is not your weight, Senor Felipe,” answered 
Alessandro, off guard, still trembling, his eyes follow- 
ing Ramona. 


RAMONA. 


133 


Felipe saw. In the next second, the eyes of the 
two young men met. Alessandro’s fell before Felipe’s. 
Felipe gazed on, steadily, at Alessandro. 

“ Ah ! ” he said ; and as he said it, he closed his eyes, 
and let his head sink back into the pillow. 

“ Is that comfortable ? Is that right ? ” asked the 
Senora, who had seen nothing. 

“ The first comfortable moment I have had, mother,” 
said Felipe. “ Stay, Alessandro. I want to speak to 
you as soon as I am rested. This move has shaken 
me up a good deal. Wait.” 

“ Yes, Senor,” replied Alessandro, and seated him- 
self on the veranda steps. 

“ If you are to stay, Alessandro,” said the Senora, 
“ I will go and look after some matters that need my 
attention. I feel always at ease about Senor Felipe 
when you are with him. You will stay till I come 
back?” 

“ Yes, Senora,” said Alessandro, in a tone cold as 
the Senora’ s own had been to Ramona. He was no 
longer in heart the Senora Moreno’s servant. In 
fact, he was at that very moment revolving con- 
fusedly in his mind whether there could be any 
possibility of his getting away before the expiration 
of the time for which he had agreed to stay. 

It was a long time before Felipe opened his eyes. 
Alessandro thought he was asleep. 

At last Felipe spoke. He had been watching Ales- 
sandro’s face for some minutes. “ Alessandro,” he 
•said. 

Alessandro sprang to his feet, and walked swiftly 
to the bedside. He did not know what the next word 
might be. He felt that the Senor Felipe had seen 
straight into his heart in that one moment’s look, and 
Alessandro was prepared for anything. 

“ Alessandro,” said Felipe, “ my mother has been 
speaking to me about your remaining with us perma- 


134 


RAMONA. 


nently. Juan Can is now very old, and after this 
accident will go on crutches the rest of his days, poor 
soul ! We are in great need of some man who under- 
stands sheep, and the care of the place generally.” 

As he spoke, he watched Alessandro’s face closely. 
Swift changing expressions passed over it. Surprise 
predominated. Felipe misunderstood the surprise. 
“I knew you would be surprised,” he said. “I told 
my mother that you would not think of it ; that you 
had stayed now only because we were in trouble.” 

Alessandro bowed his head gratefully. This recog- 
nition from Felipe gave him pleasure. 

“ Yes, Seiior,” he said, “ that was it. I told Father 
Salvierderra it was not for the wages. But my father 
and I have need of all the money we can earn. Our 
people are very poor, Seiior. I do not know whether 
my father would think I ought to take the place you 
offer me, or not, Senor. It would be as he said. I 
will ask him.” 

“ Then you would be willing to take it ? ” asked 
Felipe. 

“ Yes, Senor, if my father wished me to take it,’ ; 
replied Alessandro, looking steadily and gravely at 
Felipe ; adding, after a second’s pause, “if you are 
sure that you desire it, Senor Felipe, it would be a 
pleasure to me to be of help to you.” 

And yet it was only a few moments ago that Ales- 
sandro had been turning over in his mind the possi- 
bility of leaving the Senora Moreno’s service imme- 
diately. This change had not been a caprice, not. 
been an impulse of passionate desire to remain near 
Ramona; it had come from a sudden consciousness 
that the Senor Felipe would be his friend. And 
Alessandro was not mistaken. 


IX. 


W HEN the Senora came back to the veranda, 
she found Eelipe asleep, Alessandro standing 
at the foot ol the bed, with his arms crossed on 
his breast, watching him. As the Senora drew near, 
Alessandro felt again the same sense of dawning 
hatred which had seized him at her harsh speech to 
Ramona. He lowered his eyes, and waited to be 
dismissed. 

“ You can go now, Alessandro,” said the Senora. 
“ I will sit here. You are quite sure that it will be 
safe for Seiior Felipe to sleep here all night ? ” 

“ It will cure him before many nights,” . replied 
Alessandro, still without raising his eyes, and turning 
to go. 

“ Stay,” said the Senora. Alessandro paused. “ It 
will not do for him to be alone here in the night, 
Alessandro.” 

Alessandro had thought of this, and had remem- 
bered that if he lay on the veranda floor by Senor 
Felipe’s side, he would also lie under the Senorita’s 
window. 

“ No, Sefiora,” he replied. “ I will lie here by his 
side. That was what I had thought, if the Senora is 
willing.” 

“ Thank you, Alessandro,” said the Senora, in a 
tone which would have surprised poor Ramona, still 
sitting alone in her room, with sad eyes. She did not 
know the Senora could speak thus sweetly to any 
one but Felipe. “Thank you ! You are kind. I will 
have a bed made for you.” 


136 


RAMONA. 


“ Oh, no ! ” cried Alessandro ; “ if the Senora will 
excuse me, I could not lie on a bed. A raw-hide like 
Seiior Felipe’s, and my blanket, are all I want. I 
could not lie on any bed.” 

“To be sure,” thought the Senora; “what was I 
thinking of ! How the boy makes one forget he is an 
Indian ! But the floor is harder than the ground, 
Alessandro,” she said kindly. 

“ No, Senora,” he said, “ it is all one ; and to-night 
I will not sleep. I will watch Senor Felipe, in case 
there should be a wind, or he should wake and need 
something.” 

“ I will watch him myself till midnight,” said the 
Senora. “ I should feel easier to see how he sleeps at 
first.” 

It was the balmiest of summer nights, and as still 
as if no living thing were on the earth. There was a 
full moon, which shone on the garden, and on the 
white front of the little chapel among the trees. 
Ramona, from her window, saw Alessandro pacing up 
and down the walk. She had seen him spread down 
the raw-hide by Felipe’s bed, and had seen the Senora 
take her place in one of the big carved chairs. She 
wondered if they were both going to watch ; she 
wondered why the Senora would never let her sit up 
and watch with Felipe. 

“ I am not of any use to anybody,” she thought 
sadly. She dared not go out and ask any questions 
about the arrangements for the night. At supper the 
Senora had spoken to her only in the same cold and 
distant manner which always made her dumb and 
afraid. She had not once seen Felipe alone during the 
day. Margarita, who, in the former times, — ah, how 
far away those former times looked now ! — had been 
a greater comfort to Ramona than she realized, — Mar- 
garita now was sulky and silent, never came into 
Ramona’s presence if she could help it, and looked at 


RAMONA. 


137 


her sometimes with an expression which made Ramona 
tremble, and say to herself, “ She hates me. She has 
always hated me since that morning.” 

It had been a long, sad day to Ramona ; and as she 
sat in her window leaning her head against the sash, 
and looked at Alessandro pacing up and down, she 
felt for the first time, and did not shrink from it nor 
in any wise disavow or disguise it to herself, that she 
was glad he loved her. More than this she did not 
think ; beyond this she did not go. Her mind was 
not like Margarita’s, full of fancies bred of freedom 
in intercourse with men. But distinctly, tenderly 
glad that Alessandro loved her, and distinctly, tenderly 
aware how well he loved her, she was, as she sat at 
her window this night, looking out into the moonlit 
garden; after she had gone to bed, she could still 
hear his slow, regular steps on the garden-walk, and 
the last thought she had, as she fell asleep, was that 
she was glad Alessandro loved her. 

The moon had been long set, and the garden, chapel- 
front, trees, vines, were all wrapped in impenetrable 
darkness, when Ramona awoke, sat up in her bed, and 
listened. All was so still that the sound of Felipe’s 
low, regular breathing came in through her open win- 
dow. After hearkening to it for a few moments, she 
rose noiselessly from her bed, and creeping to the 
window parted the curtains and looked out ; noise- 
lessly, she thought ; but it was not noiselessly enough 
to escape Alessandro’s quick ear ; without a sound, 
he sprang to his feet, and stood looking at Ramona’s 
window. 

“I am here, Senorita,” he whispered. “Do you 
want anything ? ” 

“ Has he slept all night like this ? ” she whispered 
back. 

“ Yes, Senorita. He has not once moved.” 

“ How good ! ” said Ramona. “ How good ! ” 


138 


RAMONA . 


Then she stood still ; she wanted to speak again to 
Alessandro, to hear him speak again, but she could 
think of no more to say. Because she could not, she 
gave a little sigh. 

Alessandro took one swift step towards the window. 
“ May the saints bless you, Senorita,” he whispered 
fervently. 

“ Thank you, Alessandro,” murmured Ramona, and 
glided back to her bed, but not to sleep. It lacked 
not much of dawn; as the first faint light filtered 
through the darkness, Ramona heard the Senora’s 
window open. 

“ Surely she will not strike up the hymn and wake 
Felipe,” thought Ramona; and she sprang again to 
the window to listen. A few low words between the 
Senora and Alessandro, and then the Senora’s window 
closed again, and all was still. 

“ I thought she would not have the heart to wake 
him,” said Ramona to herself. “The Virgin would 
have had no pleasure in our song, I am sure ; but I 
will say a prayer to her instead ; ” and she sank on 
her knees at the head of her bed, and began say- 
ing a whispered prayer. The footfall of a spider in 
Ramona’s room had not been light enough to escape 
the ear of that watching lover outside. Again Ales- 
sandro’s tall figure arose from the floor, turning to- 
wards Ramona’s window ; and now the darkness was 
so far softened to dusk, that the outline of his form 
could be seen. Ramona felt it rather than saw it, 
and stopped praying. Alessandro was sure he had 
heard her voice. 

“ Did the Senorita speak ? ” he whispered, his face 
close at the curtain. Ramona, startled, dropped her 
rosary, which rattled as it fell on the wooden 
floor. 

“ No, no, Alessandro,” she said, “ I did not speak.” 
And she trembled, she knew not why. The sound of 


RAMONA. 139 

the beads on the floor explained to Alessandro what 
had been the whispered words he heard. 

“ She was at her prayers,” he thought, ashamed and 
sorry. “ Forgive me,” he whispered, “ I thought you 
called;” and he stepped back to the outer edge of 
the veranda, and seated himself on the railing. He 
would lie down no more. Ramona remained on her 
knees, gazing at the window. Through the transpar- 
ent muslin curtain the dawning light came slowly, 
steadily, till at last she could see Alessandro dis- 
tinctly. Forgetful of all else, she knelt gazing at 
him. The rosary lay on the floor, forgotten. Ramona 
would not finish that prayer, that day. But her 
heart was full of thanksgiving and gratitude, and 
the Madonna had a better prayer than any in the 
book. 

The sun was up, and the canaries, finches, and 
linnets had made the veranda ring with joyous racket, 
before Felipe opened his eyes. The Senora had come 
and gone and come again, looking at him anxiously, 
but he stirred not. Ramona had stolen timidly out, 
glancing at Alessandro only long enough to give him 
one quick smile, and bent over Felipe’s bed, holding 
her breath, he lay so still. 

•“ Ought he to sleep so long ? ” she whispered. 

“ Till the noon, it may be,” answered Alessandro ; 
“ and when he wakes, you will see by his eye that 
he is another man.” 

It was indeed so. When Felipe first looked about 
him, he laughed outright with pure pleasure. Then 
catching sight of Alessandro at the steps, he called, 
in a stronger voice than had yet been heard from 
him, “ Alessandro, you are a famous physician. Why 
could n’t that fool from Ventura have known as 
much ? With all his learning, he had had me in the 
next world before many days, except for you. Now, 
Alessandro, breakfast ! I am hungry. I had forgot- 


140 


RAMONA. 


ten what the thought of food was like to a hungry 
stomach. And plenty ! plenty ! ” he called, as Ales- 
sandro ran toward the kitchen. “ Bring all they 
have.” 

When the Seiiora saw Felipe bolstered up in the 
bed, his eye bright, his color good, his voice clear, 
eating heartily like his old self, she stood like a statue 
in the middle of the veranda for a moment; then 
turning to Alessandro, she said chokingly, “ May 
Heaven reward you ! ” and disappeared abruptly in her 
own room. When she came out, her eyes were red. 
All day she moved and spoke with a softness un- 
wonted, indeed inconceivable. She even spoke 
kindly and without constraint to Ramona. She felt 
like one brought back from the dead. 

After this, a new sort of life began for them all. 
Felipe’s bed on the veranda was the rallying point 
for everything and everybody. The servants came to 
look up at him, and wish him well, from the garden- 
walk below. Juan Can, when he first hobbled out 
on the stout crutches Alessandro had made him of 
manzanitta wood, dragged himself all the way round 
the house, to have a look at Senor Felipe and a word 
with him. The Seiiora sat there, in the big carved 
chair, looking like a sibyl with her black silk banded 
head-dress severely straight across her brow, and her 
large dark eyes gazing out, past Felipe, into the far 
south sky. Ramona lived there too, with her em- 
broidery or her book, sitting on cushions on the floor 
in a corner, or at the foot of Felipe’s bed, always 
so placed, however, — if anybody had noticed, but 
nobody did, — so placed that she could look at Felipe 
without looking full at the Sehora’s chair, even if the 
Seiiora were not in it. 

Here also came Alessandro many times a day, — 
sometimes sent for, sometimes of his own accord. 
He was freely welcome. When he played or sang, 


RAMONA. 


141 


he sat on the upper step of the stairs leading down 
to the garden. He also had a secret, which he 
thought all his own, in regard to the positions he 
chose. He sat always, when Ramona was there, in the 
spot which best commanded a view of her face. The 
secret was not all his own. Felipe knew it. Noth- 
ing was escaping Felipe in these days. A bomb- 
shell exploding at their feet would not have more 
astonished the different members of this circle, 
the Senora, Ramona, Alessandro, than it would to 
have been made suddenly aware of the thoughts 
which were going on in Felipe’s mind now, from 
day to day, as he lay there placidly looking at 
them all. 

It is probable that if Felipe had been in full health 
and strength when the revelation suddenly came to 
him that Alessandro loved Ramona, and that Ramona 
might love Alessandro, he would have been instantly 
filled with jealous antagonism. But at the time 
when this revelation came, he was prostrate, feeble, 
thinking many times a day that he must soon die ; 
it did not seem to Felipe that a man could be so 
weak as he was, and ever again be strong and well. 
Side by side with these forebodings of his own death, 
always came the thought of Ramona. What would 
become of her, if he were gone ? Only too well he 
knew that thef girl’s heart would be broken ; that she 
could not live on alone with his mother. Felipe 
adored his mother; but he understood her feeling 
about Ramona. 

With his feebleness had also come to Felipe, as is 
often the case in long illnesses, a greater clearness of 
perception. Ramona had ceased to puzzle him. He 
no longer asked himself what hef long, steady look 
into his eyes meant. He knew. He saw it meant 
that as a sister she loved him, had always loved him, 
and could love him in no other way. He wondered 


142 


RAMONA. 


a little at himself that this gave him no more pain ; 
only a sort of sweet, mournful tenderness towards 
her. It must be because he was so soon going out 
of the world, he thought. Presently he began to be 
aware that a new quality was coming into his love 
for her. He himself was returning to the brother 
love which he had had for her when they were 
children together, and in which he had felt no change 
until he became a man and Ramona a woman. 
It was strange what a peace fell upon Felipe when 
this was finally clear and settled in his mind. No 
doubt he had had more misgiving and fear about his 
mother in the matter than he had ever admitted to 
himself ; perhaps also the consciousness of Ramona’s 
unfortunate birth had rankled at times ; but all this 
was past now. Ramona was his sister. He was her 
brother. What course should he pursue in the crisis 
which he saw drawing near ? How could he best 
help Ramona ? What would be best for both her and 
Alessandro ? Long before the thought of any possible 
union between himself and Ramona had entered into 
Alessandro’s mind, still longer before it had entered into 
Ramona’s to think of Alessandro as a husband, Felipe 
had spent hours in forecasting, plotting, and planning 
for them. For the first time in his life he felt him- 
self in the dark as to his mothers probable action. 
That any concern as to Ramona’s personal happiness or 
welfare would influence her, he knew better than to 
think for a moment. So far as that was concerned, 
Ramona might wander out the next hour, wife of a 
homeless beggar, and his mother would feel no regret. 
But Ramona had been the adopted daughter of the 
Senora Ortegna, bore the Ortegna name, and had 
lived as foster-child in the house of the Morenos. 
Would the Senora permit such a one to marry an 
Indian ? 

Felipe doubted. The longer he thought, the more 


RAMONA. 


143 


he doubted. The more he watched, the more he saw 
that the question might soon have to be decided. 
Any hour might precipitate it. He made plan after 
plan for forestalling trouble, for preparing his mother ; 
but Felipe was by nature indolent, and now he was, 
in addition, feeble. Day after day slipped by. It 
was exceedingly pleasant on the veranda. Eamona 
was usually with him ; his mother was gentler, less 
sad, than he had ever seen her. Alessandro was al- 
ways at hand, ready for any service, — in the field, in 
the house, — his music a delight, his strength and 
fidelity a repose, his personal presence always agree- 
able. “ If only my mother could think it,” reflected 
Felipe, "it would be the best thing, all round, to have 
Alessandro stay here as overseer of the place, and 
then they might be married. Perhaps before the sum- 
mer is over she will come to see it so.” 

And the delicious, languid, semi-tropic summer came 
hovering over the valley. The apricots turned golden, 
the peaches glowed, the grapes filled and hardened, 
like opaque emeralds hung thick under the canopied 
vines. The garden was a shade brown, and the roses 
had all fallen ; but there were lilies, and orange-blos- 
soms, and poppies, and carnations, and geraniums in 
the pots, and musk, — oh, yes, ever and always musk. 
It was like an enchanter’s spell, the knack the Senora 
had of forever keeping relays of musk to bloom all 
the year ; and it was still more like an enchanter’s 
spell, that Felipe would never confess that he hated 
it. But the bees liked it, and the humming-birds, — 
the butterflies also ; and the air was full of them. 
The veranda was a quieter place now as the season’s 
noon grew near. The linnets were all nesting, and 
the finches and the canaries too ; and the Senora spent 
hours, every day, tirelessly feeding the mothers. The 
vines had all grown and spread out to their thickest ; 
no need any longer of the gay blanket Alessandro 


144 


RAMONA. 


had pinned up that first morning to keep the sun off 
Felipe’s head. 

What was the odds between a to-day and a to- 
morrow in such a spot as this ? “ To-morrow,” said 
Felipe, “ I will speak to my mother,” and “ to-mor- 
row,” and “ to-morrow ; ” but he did not. 

There was one close observer of these pleasant 
veranda days that Felipe knew nothing about. 
That \yas Margarita. As the girl came and went 
about her household tasks, she was always on the 
watch for Alessandro, on the watch for Eamona. 
She was biding her time. Just what shape her re- 
venge was going to take, she did not know. It was 
no use plotting. It must be as it fell out ; but that 
the hour and the way for her revenge would come, 
she never doubted. 

When she saw the group on the veranda, as she 
often did, all listening to Alessandro’s violin, or to 
his singing, Alessandro himself now at his ease and 
free in the circle, as if he had been there always, her 
anger was almost beyond bounds. 

“ Oh, ho ! like a member of the family ; quite so ! ” 
she sneered. “ It is new times when a head shepherd 
spends his time with the ladies of the house, and sits 
in their presence like a guest who is invited ! We 
shall see ; we shall see what comes of all this ! ” And 
she knew not which she hated the more of the two, 
Alessandro or Eamona. 

Since the day of the scene at the artichoke-field 
she had never spoken to Alessandro, and had avoided, 
so far as was possible, seeing him. At first Alessan- 
dro was sorry for this, and tried to be friendly with 
her. As soon as he felt assured that the incident had 
not hurt him at all in the esteem of Eamona, he began 
to be sorry for Margarita. “ A man should not be 
rude to any maiden,” he thought ; and he hated to re- 
member how he had pushed Margarita from him, and 


RAMONA. 


145 


snatched his hand away, when he had in the outset 
made no objection to her taking it. But Margarita’s 
resentment was not to be appeased. She understood 
only too clearly how little Alessandro’s gentle ad- 
vances meant, and she would none of them. “ Let him 
go to his Senorita,” she said bitterly, mocking the 
reverential tone in which she had overheard him pro- 
nounce the word. “ She is fond enough of him, if 
only the fool had eyes to see it. She ’ll be ready to 
throw herself at his head before long, if this kind of 
thing keeps up. * It is not well to speak thus freely 
of young men, Margarita ! ’ Ha, ha ! Little I 
thought that day which way the wind set in my 
mistress’s temper ! I ’ll wager she reproves me no 
more, under this roof or any other ! Curse her ! What 
did she want of Alessandro, except to turn his head, 
and then bid him go his way ! ” 

To do Margarita justice, she never once dreamed 
of the possibility of Bamona’s wedding Alessandro. 
A clandestine affair, an intrigue of more or less in- 
tensity, such as she herself might have carried on 
with any one of the shepherds, — this was the utmost 
stretch of Margarita’s angry imaginations in regard 
to her young mistress’s liking for Alessandro. There 
was not, in her way of looking at things, any impos- 
sibility of such a thing as that. But 'marriage ! It 
might be questioned whether that idea would have 
been any more startling to the Seiiora herself than to 
Margarita. 

Little had passed between Alessandro and Ramona 
which Margarita did not know. The girl was always 
like a sprite, — here, there, everywhere, in an hour, 
and with eyes which, as her mother often told her, 
saw on all sides of her head. Now, fired by her new 
purpose, new passion, she moved swifter than ever, 
and saw and heard even more. There were few hours 
of any day when she did not know to a certainty 
10 


.46 


RAMONA. 


where both Alessandro and Ramona were ; and there 
had been few meetings between them which she had 
not either seen or surmised. 

In the simple life of such a household as the 
Seiiora’s, it was not strange that this was possible ; 
nevertheless, it argued and involved untiring vigi- 
lance on Margarita’s part. Even Felipe, who thought 
himself, from his vantage-post of observation on the 
veranda, and from his familiar relation with Ramona, 
well informed of most that happened, would have 
been astonished to hear all that Margarita could have 
told him. In the first days Ramona herself had 
guilelessly told him much, — had told him how Ales- 
sandro, seeing her trying to sprinkle and bathe and 
keep alive the green ferns with which she had deco- 
rated the chapel for Father Salvierderra’s coming, had 
said : “ Oh, Sefiorita, they are dead ! Do not take 
trouble with them ! I will bring you fresh ones ; ” 
and the next morning she had found, lying at the 
chapel door, a pile of such ferns as she had never 
before seen ; tall ones, like ostrich-plumes, six and 
eight feet high ; the feathery maiden-hair, and the 
gold fern, and the silver, twice as large as she ever 
had found them. The chapel was beautiful, like a 
conservatory, after she had arranged them in vases 
and around the high candlesticks. 

It was Alessandro, too, who had picked up in the 
artichoke-patch all of the last year’s seed-vessels 
which had not been trampled down by the cattle, and 
bringing one to her, had asked shyly if she did not 
think it prettier than flowers made out of paper. 
His people, he said, made wreaths of them. And 
so they were, more beautiful than any paper flow- 
ers which ever were made, — great soft round disks 
of fine straight threads like silk, with a kind of 
saint’s halo around them of sharp, stiff points, glossy 
as satin, and of a lovely creamy color. It was the 


RAMONA. 


147 


strangest thing in the world nobody had ever noticed 
them as they lay there on the ground. She had put a 
great wreath of them around Saint Joseph’s head, and 
a bunch in the Madonna’s hand ; and when the Senora 
saw them, she exclaimed in admiration, and thought 
they must have been made of silk and satin. 

And Alessandro had brought her beautiful baskets, 
made by the Indian women at Pala, and one which 
had come from the North, from the Tulare country ; 
it had gay feathers woven in with the reeds, — red and 
yellow, in alternate rows, round and round. It was 
like a basket made out of a bright-colored bird. 

And a beautiful stone bowl Alessandro had brought 
her, glossy black, that came all the way from Catalina 
Island; a friend of Alessandro’s got it. For the first 
few weeks it had seemed as if hardly a day passed 
that there was not some new token to be chronicled 
of Alessandro’s thoughtfulness and good-will. Often, 
too, Ramona had much to tell that Alessandro had 
said, — tales of the old Mission days that he had 
heard from his father ; stories of saints, and of the 
early Fathers, who were more like saints than like 
men, Alessandro said, — Father Junipero, who founded 
the first Missions, and Father Crespi, his friend. Ales- 
sandro’s grandfather had journeyed with Father Crespi 
as his servant, and many a miracle he had with his 
own eyes seen Father Crespi perform. There was a 
cup out of which the Father always took his choco- 
late for breakfast, — a beautiful cup, which was carried 
in a box, the only luxury the Father had ; and one 
morning it was broken, and everybody was in terror 
and despair. “ Never mind, never mind,” said the 
Father; “ I will make it whole ; ” and taking the two 
pieces in his hands, he held them tight together, and 
prayed over them, and they became one solid piece 
again, and it was used all through the journey, just 
as before. 


148 


RAMONA. 


But now, Ramona never spoke voluntarily of Ales- 
sandro. To Felipe’s sometimes artfully put questions 
or allusions to him, she made brief replies, and never 
continued the topic ; and Felipe had observed another 
thing : she now rarely looked at Alessandro. When 
he was speaking to others she kept her eyes on the 
ground. If he addressed her, she looked quickly up 
at him, but lowered her eyes after th-e first glance. 
Alessandro also observed this, and was glad of it. He 
understood it. He knew how differently she could 
look in his face in the rare moments when they were 
alone together. He fondly thought he alone knew 
this ; but he was mistaken. Margarita knew. She 
had more than once seen it. 

It had happened more than once that he had found 
Ramona at the willows by the brook, and had talked 
with her there. The first time it happened, it was a 
chance ; after that never a chance again, for Alessan- 
dro went often seeking the spot, hoping to find her. 
In Ramona’s mind too, not avowed, but half con* 
sciously, there was, if not the hope of seeing him 
there, at least the memory that it was there they had 
met. It was a pleasant spot, — cool and shady even 
at noon, and the running water always full of music. 
Ramona often knelt there of a morning, washing out 
a bit of lace or a handkerchief ; and when Alessandro 
saw her, it went hard with him to stay away. At 
such moments the vision returned to him vividly of 
that first night when, for the first second, seeing her 
face in the sunset glow, he had thought her scarce 
mortal. It was not that he even now thought her 
less a saint ; but ah, how well he knew her to be 
human ! He had gone alone in the dark to this spot 
many a time, and, lying on the grass, put his hands 
into the running water, and played with it dreamily, 
thinking, in his poetic Indian fashion, thoughts like 
these : “ Whither have gone the drops that passed 


RAMONA. 


149 


beneath her hands Just here ? These drops will never 
find those in the sea ; but I love this water ! ” 

Margarita had seen him thus lying, and without 
dreaming of the refined sentiment which prompted 
his action, had yet groped blindly towards it, think- 
ing to herself : “ He hopes his Senorita will come 
down to him there. A nice place it is for a lady to 
meet her lover, at the washing-stones ! It will take 
swifter water than any in that brook, Senorita Ka- 
moua, to wash you white in the Senora’s eyes, if ever 
she come upon you there with the head shepherd, 
making free with him, may be ! Oh, but if that could 
only happen, I ’d die content ! ” And the more Mar- 
garita watched, the more she thought it not unlikely 
that it might turn out so. It was oftener at the wil- 
lows than anywhere else that Eamona and Alessandro 
met ; and, as Margarita noticed with malicious sat- 
isfaction, they talked each time longer, each time 
parted more lingeringly. Several times it had hap- 
pened to be near supper-time ; and Margarita, with 
one eye on the garden-walk, had hovered restlessly 
near the Senora, hoping to be ordered to call the 
Senorita to supper. 

“ If but I could come on them of a sudden, and 
say to her as she did to me, ‘ You are wanted in the 
house ’ ! Oh, but it would do my soul good ! I ’d say 
it so it would sting like a lash laid on both their 
faces ! It will come ! It will come ! It will be 
there that she ’ll be caught one of these fine times 
she ’s having ! I ’ll wait ! It will come ! ” 


X. 


I T came. And when it came, it fell out worse for 
Ramona than Margarita’s most malicious hopes 
had pictured ; hut Margarita had no hand in it. It 
was the Senora herself. 

Since Felipe had so far gained as to be able to be 
dressed, sit in his chair on the veranda, and walk 
about the house and garden a little, the Senora, at 
ease in her mind about him, had resumed her old 
habit of long, lonely walks on the place. It had been 
well said by her servants, that there was not a blade 
of grass on the estate that the Senora had not seen. 
She knew every inch of her land. She had a special 
purpose in walking over it now. She was carefully 
examining to see whether she could afford to sell to 
the Ortegas a piece of pasture-land which they greatly 
desired to buy, as it joined a pasturage tract of theirs. 
This bit of land lay farther from the house than the 
Senora realized, and it had taken more time than she 
thought it would, to go over it , and it was already 
sunset on this eventful day, when, hurrying home, 
she turned off from the highway into the same 
short-cut path in which Father Salvierderra had met 
Ramona in the spring. There was no difficulty 
now in getting through the mustard tangle. It was 
parched and dry, and had been trampled by cattle. 
The Senora walked rapidly, but it was dusky twilight 
when she reached the willows ; so dusky that she saw 
nothing — and she stepped so lightly on the smooth 
brown path that she made no sound — until sud- 
denly, face to face with a man and a woman standing 


RAMONA. 


151 


locked in each other’s arms, she halted, stepped back 
a pace, gave a cry of surprise, and, in the same second, 
recognized the faces of the two, who, stricken dumb, 
stood apart, each gazing into her face with terror. 

Strangely enough, it was Ramona who spoke first. 
Terror for herself had stricken her dumb ; terror for 
Alessandro gave her a voice. 

“Senora,” she began. 

“ Silence ! Shameful creature ! ” cried the Senora. 
“ Do not dare to speak ! Go to your room ! ” 

Ramona did not move. 

“ As for you,” the Senora continued, turning to Ales- 
sandro, “you,” — she was about to say, “You are 
discharged from my service from this hour,” but recol- 
lecting herself in time, said, — “ you will answer to 
Senor Felipe. Out of my sight!” And the Senora 
Moreno actually, for once in her life beside herself 
with rage, stamped her foot on the ground. “ Out of 
my sight ! ” she repeated. 

Alessandro did not stir, except to turn towards 
Ramona with an inquiring look. He would run no 
risk of doing what she did not wish. He had no idea 
what she would think it best to do in this terrible 
dilemma. 

“ Go, Alessandro,” said Ramona, calmly, still looking 
the Senora full in the eye. Alessandro obeyed ; be- 
fore the words had left her lips, he bad walked away. 

Ramona’s composure, and Alessandro’s waiting for 
further orders than her own before stirring from the 
spot, were too much for Senora Moreno. A wrath, 
such as she had not felt since she was young, took 
possession of her. As Ramona opened her lips again, 
saying, “ Senora,” the Senora did a shameful deed ; 
she struck the girl on the mouth, a cruel blow. 

“ Speak not to me ! ” she cried again ; and seizing 
her by the arm, she pushed rather than dragged her 
up the garden-walk. 


152 


RAMONA. 


11 Senora, you hurt my arm/’ said Ramona, still in 
the same calm voice. “ You need not hold me. I 
will go with you. I am not afraid.” 

Was this Ramona ? The Senora, already ashamed, 
let go the arm, and stared in the girl’s face. Even in 
the twilight she could see upon it an expression of 
transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one 
would have thought it capable. “What does this 
mean ? ” thought the Senora, still weak, and trem- 
bling all over, from rage. “ The hussy, the hypocrite ! ” 
and she seized the arm again. 

This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but sub- 
mitted to being led like a prisoner, pushed into her 
own room, the door slammed violently and locked on 
the outside. 

All of which Margarita saw. She had known for 
an hour that Ramona and Alessandro were at the wil- 
lows, and she had been consumed with impatience at 
the Sehora’s prolonged absence. More than once she 
had gone to Felipe, and asked with assumed interest 
if he were not hungry, and if he and the Senorita 
would not have their supper. 

“ No, no, not till the Senora returns,” Felipe had 
answered. He, too, happened this time to know 
where Ramona and Alessandro were. He knew also 
where the Senora had gone, and that'she would be late 
home ; but he did not know that there would be any 
chance of her returning by way of the willows at 
the brook ; if he had known it, he would have con- 
trived to summon Ramona. 

When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her 
room by the pale and trembling Senora, saw the key 
turned, taken out, and dropped into the Sehora’s 
pocket, she threw her apron over her head, and ran 
into the back porch. Almost a remorse seized her. 
She remembered in a flash how often Ramona had 
helped her in times gone by, — sheltered her from 


RAMONA. 


153 


the Sefiora’s displeasure. She recollected the torn 
altar-cloth. “ Holy Virgin ! what will be done to her 
now ? ” she exclaimed, under her breath. Margarita 
had never conceived of such an extremity as this. 
Disgrace, and a sharp reprimand, and a sundering of 
all relations with Alessandro, — this was all Mar- 
garita had meant to draw down on Bamona’s head. 
But the Seiiora looked as if she might kill her. 

“ She always did hate her, in her heart,” reflected 
Margarita ; “ she shan’t starve her to death, anyhow. 
1 ’ll never stand by and see that. But it must have 
been something shameful the Seiiora saw, to have 
brought her to such a pass as this ; ” and Marga- 
rita s jealousy again got the better of her sympathy. 
“ Good enough for her. No more than she deserved. 
An honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a 
good husband for any girl!” Margarita’s short-lived 
remorse was over. She was an enemy again. 

It was an odd thing, how identical were Margarita’s 
and the Senora’s view and interpretation of the situ- 
ation. The Seiiora looking at it from above, and 
Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, 
and they were both equally sure, that it could be 
nothing more nor less than a disgraceful intrigue. 
Mistress and maid were alike incapable either of con- 
jecturing or of believing the truth. 

As ill luck would have it, — or was it good luck ? — 
Felipe also had witnessed the scene in the garden- 
walk. Hearing voices, he had looked out of his win- 
dow, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, 
had seen his mother violently dragging Bamona by 
the arm, — Bamona pale, but strangely placid ; his 
mother with rage and fury in her white face. The 
sight told its own tale to Felipe. Smiting his fore- 
head with his hand, he groaned out : “ Fool that I 
was, to let her be surprised ; she has come on them 
unawares ; now she will never, never forgive it ! ” And 


154 


RAMONA. 


Felipe threw himself on his bed, to think what should 
be done. Presently he heard his mother’s voice, still 
agitated, calling his name. He remained silent, sure 
she would soon seek him in his room. When she 
entered, and, seeing him on the bed, came swiftly to- 
wards him, saying, “ Felipe, dear, are you ill ? ” he 
replied in a feeble voice, “ Ho, mother, only tired a 
little to-night ; ” and as she bent over him, anxious, 
alarmed, he threw his arms around her neck and 
kissed her warmly. “ Mother mia ! ” he said passion- 
ately, “ what should I do without you ? ” The caress, 
the loving words, acted like oil on the troubled 
waters. They restored the Seiiora as nothing else 
could. What mattered anything, so long as she had 
her adoring and adorable son ! And she would not 
speak to him, now that he was so tired, of this dis- 
graceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. It could 
wait till morning. She would send him his supper 
in his room, and he would not miss Ramona, per- 
haps. 

“ I will send your supper here, Felipe,” she said ; 
“ you must not overdo; you have been walking too 
much. Lie still.” And kissing him affectionately, 
she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainly 
trying to look as if nothing had happened, was stand- 
ing, ready to serve supper. When the Seiiora en- 
tered, with her countenance composed, and in her 
ordinary tones said, “ Margarita, you can take Senor 
Felipe’s supper into his room; he is lying down, 
and will not get up ; he is tired,” Margarita was 
ready to doubt if she had not been in a nightmare 
dream. Had she, or had she not, within the last half- 
hour, seen the Seiiora, shaking and speechless with 
rage, push the Senorita Ramona into her room, and 
lock her up there ? She was so bewildered that she 
stood still and gazed at the Senora, with her mouth 
wide open. 


RAMONA. 


155 


“ What are you staring at, girl ? ” asked the Senora, 
so sharply that Margarita jumped. 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing, Senora ! And the Senorita, 
will she come to supper? Shall I call her?” she 
said. 

The Senora eyed her. Had she seen ? Could she 
have seen ? The Senora Moreno was herself again. 
So long as Ramona was under her roof, no matter 
what she herself might do or say to the girl, no ser- 
vant should treat her with disrespect, or know that 
aught was wrong. 

“ The Senorita is not well,” she said coldly. “ She 
is in her room. I myself will take her some supper 
later, if she wishes it. Do not disturb her.” And 
the Senora returned to Felipe. 

Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to 
clear the table she had spread with such malicious 
punctuality two short hours before. In those two 
short hours how much had happened ! 

“ Small appetite for supper will our Senorita have, 
I reckon,” said the bitter Margarita, “ and the Senor 
Alessandro also ! I’m curious to see how he will 
carry himself.” 

But her curiosity was not gratified. Alessandro 
came not to the kitchen. The last of the herds- 
men had eaten and gone ; it was past nine o’clock, 
and no Alessandro. Slyly Margarita ran out and 
searched in some of the places where she knew he 
was in the habit of going ; but Alessandro was not to 
be found. Once she brushed so near his hiding-place 
that he thought he was discovered, and was on the 
point of speaking, but luckily held his peace, and she 
passed on. Alessandro was hid behind the geranium 
clump at the chapel door; sitting on the ground, 
with his knees drawn up to his chin, watching Ra- 
mona’s window. He intended to stay there all night. 
He felt that he might be needed ; if Ramona wanted 


156 


RAMONA. 


him, she would either open her window and call, or 
would come out and go down through the garden-walk 
to the willows. In either case, he would see her from 
the hidiug-place he had chosen. He was racked by 
his emotions ; mad with joy one minute, sick at heart 
with misgiving the next. Ramona loved him. She 
had told him so. She had said she would go away 
with him and be his wife. The words had but just 
passed her lips, at that dreadful moment when thfe 
Senora appeared in their presence. As he lived the 
scene over again, he re-experienced the joy and 
the terror equally. 

What was not that terrible Senora capable of 
doing? Why did she look at him and at Ramona 
with such loathing scorn ? Since she knew that the 
Senorita was half Indian, why should she think it so 
dreadful a thing for her to marry an Indian man ? It 
did not once enter into Alessandro’s mind, that the 
Senora could have had any other thought, seeing 
them as she did, in each other’s arms. And again, 
what had he to give to Ramona? Could she live in a 
house such as he must live in, — live as the Temecula 
women lived ? No ! for her sake he must leave his 
people ; must go to some town, must do — he knew 
not what — something to earn more money. An- 
guish seized him as he pictured to himself Ramona 
suffering deprivations. The more he thought of the 
future in this light, the more his joy faded and his 
fear grew. He had never had sufficient hope that 
she could be his, to look forward thus to the prac- 
tical details of life ; he had only gone on loving, and 
in a vague way dreaming and hoping; and now, — 
now, in a moment, all had been changed ; in a mo- 
ment he had spoken, and she had spoken, and such 
words once spoken, there was no going back ; and he 
had put his arms around her, and felt her head on his 
shoulder, and kissed her ! Yes, he, Alessandro, had 


v 


RAMONA. 


157 


kissed the Sehorita Ramona, and she had been glad 
of it, and had kissed him on the lips, as no maiden 
kisses a man unless she will wed with him, — him, 
Alessandro ! Oh, no wonder the man’s brain whirled, 
as he sat there in the silent darkness, wondering, 
afraid, helpless ; his love wrenched from him, in the 
very instant of their first kiss, — wrenched from him, 
and he himself ordered, by one who had the right 
to order him, to begone ! What could an Indian do 
against a Moreno ! 

Would Felipe help him ? Ay, there was Felipe ! 
That Felipe was his friend, Alessandro knew with a 
knowledge as sure as the wild partridge’s instinct for 
the shelter of her brood ; but could Felipe move the 
Senora ? Oh, that terrible Seiiora ! . What would 
become of them ? 

As in the instant of drowning, men are said to 
review in a second the whole course of their lives, 
so in this supreme moment of Alessandro’s love 
there flashed through his mind vivid pictures of 
every word and act of Ramona’s since he first knew 
her. He recollected the tone in which she had said, 
and the surprise with which he heard her say it, 
at the time of Felipe’s fall, “You are Alessandro, 
are you not ? ” He heard again her soft-whispered 
prayers the first night Felipe slept on the veranda. 
He recalled her tender distress because the shearers 
had had no dinner ; the evident terribleness to her of 
a person going one whole day without food. “ 0 God ! 
will she always have food each day if she comes 
with me ? ” he said. And at the bare thought he was 
ready to flee away from her forever. Then he re- 
called her look and her words only a few hours 
ago, when he first told her he loved her ; and his 
heart took courage. She had said, “ I know you 
love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it,” and had 
lifted her eyes to his, with all the love that a woman’s 


158 


RAMONA. 


eyes can carry ; and when he threw his arms around 
her, she had of her own accord come closer, and laid 
one hand on his shoulder, and turned her face to his. 
Ah, what else mattered ! There was the whole world ; 
if she loved him like this, nothing could make them 
wretched ; his love would be enough for her, — and 
for him hers was an empire. 

It was indeed true, though neither the Sehora nor 
Margarita would have believed it, that this had been 
the first word of love ever spoken between Alessan- 
dro and Bamona, the first caress ever given, the first 
moment of unreserve. It had come about, as lovers* 
first words, first caresses, are so apt to do, unexpect- 
edly, with no more premonition, at the instant, than 
there is of the instant of the opening of a flower. 
Alessandro had been speaking to Bamona of the 
conversation Felipe had held with him in regard to 
remaining on the place, and asked her if she knew of 
the plan. 

"Yes,” she said; "I heard the Senora talking about 
it with Felipe, some days ago.” 

"Was she against my staying?” asked Alessandro, 
quickly. 

" I think not,” said Bamona, " but I am not sure. 
It is not easy to be sure what the Senora wishes, till 
afterward. It was Felipe that proposed it.” 

This somewhat enigmatical statement as to the 
difficulty of knowing the Senora’s wishes was like 
Greek to Alessandro’s mind. 

" I do not understand, Senorita,” he said. " What 
do you mean by ‘ afterward ’ ? ” 

" I mean,” replied Bamona, " that the Senora never 
says she wishes anything ; she says she leaves every- 
thing to Felipe to decide, or to Father Salvierderra. 
But I think it is always decided as she wishes to 
have it, after all. The Senora is wonderful, Ales- 
sandro ; don’t you think so ? ” 


RAMONA. 


159 


“ She loves Sefior Felipe very much/’ was Alessan- 
dro’s evasive reply. 

“ Ob, yes,” exclaimed Eamona. “ You do not begin 
to know how much. She does not love any other 
human being. He takes it all. She has n’t any left. 
If he had died, she would have died too. That is the 
reason she likes you so much ; she thinks } 7 ou saved 
Felipe’s life. . I mean, that is one reason,” added 
Eamona, smiling, and looking up confidingly at 
Alessandro, who smiled back, not in vanity, but 
honest gratitude that the Senorita was pleased to 
intimate that he was not unworthy of the Senora’s 
regard. 

“ I do not think she likes me,” he said. “ I can- 
not tell why ; but I do not think she likes any one 
in the world. She is not like any one I ever saw, 
Senorita.” 

“No,” replied Eamona, thoughtfully. “She is not. 
I am, oh, so afraid of her, Alessandro ! I have always 
been, ever since I was a little girl. I used to think 
she hated me ; but now I think she does not care 
one way or the other, if I keep out of her way.” 

While Eamona spoke these words, her eyes were 
fixed on the running water at her feet. If she had 
looked up, and seen the expression in Alessandro’s 
eyes as he listened, the thing which was drawing 
near would have drawn near faster, would have ar- 
rived at that moment ; but she did not look up. She 
went on, little dreaming how hard she was making it 
for Alessandro. 

“ Many ’s the time I ’ve come down here, at night, 
to this brook, and looked at it, and wished it was a 
big river, so I could throw myself in, and be carried 
away out to the sea, dead. But it is a fearful sin, 
Father Salvierderra says, to take one’s own life ; and 
always the next morning, when the sun came out, 
and the birds sang, I ’ve been glad enough I had not 


160 


RAMONA. 


done it. Were you ever so unhappy as that, Ales- 
sandro ? ” 

“No, Senorita, never,” replied Alessandro; “and it 
is thought a great disgrace, among us, to kill one’s 
self. I think I could never do it. But, oh, Senorita, 
it is a grief to think of your being unhappy. Will 
you always be so ? Must you always stay here ? ” 

“ Oh, but I am not always unhappy ! ” said Ramona, 
with her sunny little laugh. “ Indeed, I am gener- 
ally very happy. Father Salvierderra says that if 
one does no sin, one will be always happy, and that 
it is a sin not to rejoice every hour of the day 
in the sun and the sky and the work there is to 
do ; and there is always plenty of that.” Then, her 
face clouding, she continued : “ I suppose I shall 
always stay here. I have no other home ; you know 
I was the Senora’s sister’s adopted child. She died 
when I was little, and the Senora kindly took me. 
Father Salvierderra says I must never forget to be 
grateful to her for all she has done for me, and I try 
not to.” 

Alessandro eyed her closely. The whole story, as 
J uan Can had told it to him, of the girl’s birth, was 
burning in his thoughts. How he longed to cry out, 
“ 0 my loved one, they have made you homeless in 
your home. They despise you. The blood of my 
race is in your veins ; come to me ; come to me ! be 
surrounded with love!” But he dared not. How 
could he dare ? 

Some strange spell seemed to have unloosed Ra- 
mona s tongue to-night. She had never before spoken 
to Alessandro of her own personal history or bur- 
dens ; but she went on : “ The worst thing is, Alessan- 
dro, that she will not tell me who my mother was ; 
and I do not know if she is alive or not, or anything 
about her. Once I asked the Senora, but she forbade 
me ever to ask her again. She said she herself would 


RAMONA. 


161 


tell me when it was proper for me to know. But she 
never has.” 

How the secret trembled on Alessandro’s lips now. 
Ramona had never seemed so near, so intimate, so 
trusting. What would happen if he were to tell her 
the truth ? Would the sudden knowledge draw her 
closer to him, or repel her ? 

“ Have you never asked her again ? ” he said. 

Ramona looked up astonished. “No one ever dis- 
obeyed the Senora,” she said quickly. 

“ I would ! ” exclaimed Alessandro. 

“ You may think so,” said Ramona, “ but you 
could n’t. When you tried, you would find you 
could n’t. I did ask Father Salvierderra once.” 

“ What did he say ? ” asked Alessandro, breathless. 

“ The same thing. He said I must not ask ; I 
was not old enough. When the time came, I would 
be told,” answered Ramona, sadly. “ I don’t see what 
they can mean by the time’s coming. What do you 
suppose they meant ? ” 

“ I do not know the ways of any people but my 
own, Senorita,” replied Alessandro. “ Many things 
that your people do, and still more that these Ameri- 
cans do, are to me so strange, I know nothing what * 
they mean. . Perhaps they do not know who was your 
mother ? ” 

“I am sure they do,” answered Ramona, in a low 
tone, as if the words were wrung from her. “ But 
let us talk about something else, Alessandro ; not 
about sad things, about pleasant things. Let us talk 
about your staying here.” 

“ Would it be truly a pleasure to the Senorita 
Ramona, if I stayed ? ” said Alessandro. 

“ You know it would,” answered Ramona, frankly, 
yet with a tremor in her voice, which Alessandro felt. 

“ I do not see what we could any of us do without 
you. Felipe says he shall not let you go.” 

ll 


162 


RAMONA. 


Alessandro’s face glowed. "It must be as my 
father says, Seiiorita,” he said. “ A messenger came 
from him yesterday, and I sent him back with a letter 
telling him. what the Senor Felipe had proposed to 
me, and asking him what I should do. My father is 
very old, Seiiorita, and I do not see how he can well 
spare me. I am his only child, and my mother died 
years ago. We live alone together in our house, and 
when I am away he is very lonely. But he would 
like to have me earn the wages, I know, and I hope 
he will think it best for me to stay. There are many 
things we want to do for the village; most of our 
people are poor, and can do little more than get 
what they need to eat day by day, and my father 
wishes to see them better off before he dies. Now 
that the Americans are coming in all around us, he 
is afraid and anxious all the time. He wants to get 
a big fence built around our land, so as to show 
where it is ; but the people cannot take much time 
to work on the fence ; they need all their time to 
work for themselves and their families. Indians 
have a hard time to live now, Seiiorita. Were you 
ever in Temecula ? ” 

“ No,” said Bamona. “ Is it a large town ? ” 

Alessandro sighed. "Dear Seiiorita, it is not a 
town ; it is only a little village not more than twenty 
houses in all, and some of those are built only of tule. 
There is a chapel, and a graveyard. We built an 
adobe wall around the graveyard last year. That 
my father said we would do, before we built the fence 
around the village.” 

“ How many people are there in the village ? ” asked 
Ramona. 

“ Nearly two hundred, when they are all there ; 
but many of them are away most of the time. They 
must go where they can get work ; they are hired by 
the farmers, or to do work on the great ditches, or 


RAMONA. 


163 


to go as shepherds ; and some of them take their 
wives and children with them. I do not believe the 
Senorita has ever seen any very poor people.” 

“ Oh, yes, I have, Alessandro, at Santa Barbara. 
There were many poor people there, and the Sisters 
used to give them food every week.” 

“ Indians ? ” said Alessandro. 

Ramona colored. “ Yes,” she said, “ some of them 
were, but not like your men, Alessandro. They were 
very different ; miserable looking ; they could not read 
nor write, and they seemed to have no ambition.” 

“ That is the trouble,” said Alessandro, “ with so 
many of them ; it is with my father’s people, too. 
They say; * What is the use ? ’ My father gets in despair 
with them, because they will not learn better. He 
gives them a great deal, but they do not seem to be 
any better off for it. There is only one other man in 
our village who can read and write, besides my father 
and me, Senorita ; and yet my father is all the time 
begging them to come to his house and learn of him. 
But. they say they have no time ; and indeed there 
is much truth in that, Senorita. You see everybody 
has troubles, Senorita.” 

Ramona had been listening with sorrowful face. 
All this was new to her. Until to-night, neither she 
nor Alessandro had spoken of private and personal 
matters. 

“ Ah, but these are real troubles,” she said. “ I do 
not think mine were real troubles at all. I wish I 
could do something for your people, Alessandro. If 
the village were only near by, I could teach them, 
could I not ? I could teach them to read. The Sis- 
ters always said, that to teach the ignorant and the 
poor was the noblest work one could do. I wish I 
could teach your people. Have you any relatives 
there besides your father ? Is there any one in the 
village that you — love, Alessandro ? ” 


164 


RAMONA. 


Alessandro was too much absorbed in thoughts of 
his people, to observe the hesitating emphasis with 
which Ramona asked this question. 

“ Yes, Senorita, I love them all. They are like 
my brothers and sisters, all of my father’s people,” 
he said ; “ and I am unhappy about them all the 
time.” 

During the whole of this conversation Ramona had 
had an undercurrent of thought going on, which was 
making her uneasy. The more Alessandro said about 
his father and his people, the more she realized that 
he was held to Temecula by bonds that would be hard 
to break, the more she feared his father would not let 
him remain away from home for any length* of time. 
At the thought of his going away, her very heart 
sickened. Taking a sudden step towards him, she 
said abruptly, “Alessandro, I am afraid your father 
will not give his consent to your staying here.” 

“ So am I, Senorita,” he replied sadly. 

“ And you would not stay if he did not approve of 
it, of course,” she said. 

“ How could I, Senorita ? ” 

“ Ho,” she said, “ it would not be right; ” but as she 
said these words, the tears filled her eyes. 

Alessandro saw them. The world changed in that 
second. “ Senorita ! Senorita Ramona ! ” he cried, 
“ tears have come in your eyes ! 0 Senorita, then 

you will not be angry if I say that I love you ! ” and 
Alessandro trembled with the terror and delight of 
having said the words. 

Hardly did he trust his palpitating senses to be 
telling him true the words that followed, quick, firm, 
though only in a whisper, — “I know that you love 
me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it ! ” Yes, this was 
whatr the Senorita Ramona was saying ! And when 
he stammered, “ But you, Senorita, you do not — you 
could not — ” “ Yes, Alessandro, I do — I love 


RAMONA. 


165 


you ! ” in the same clear, firm whisper ; and the next 
minute Alessandro’s arms were around Ramona, and 
he had kissed her, sobbing rather than saying, “ 0 
Senorita, do you mean that you will go with me ? that 
you are mine ? Oh, no, beloved Senorita, you cannot 
mean that ! ” But he was kissing her. He knew she 
did mean it ; and Ramona, whispering, “ Yes, Alessan- 
dro, I do mean it ; I will go with you,” clung to him 
with her hands, and kissed him, and repeated it, “ I 
will go with you, I love you.” And then, just then, 
came the Senora’s step, and her sharp cry of amaze- 
ment, and there she stood, no more than an arm’s- 
length away, looking at them with her indignant, 
terrible eyes. 

What an hour this for Alessandro to be living over 
and over, as he crouched in the darkness, watching ! 
But the bewilderment of his emotions did not dull 
his‘ senses. As if stalking deer in a forest, he listened 
for sounds from the house. It seemed strangely still. 
As the darkness deepened, it seemed still stranger 
that no lamps were lit. Darkness in the Seiiora’s 
room, in the Senorita’s ; a faint light in the dining- 
room, soon put out, — evidently no supper going on 
there. Only from under. Felipe’s door streamed a faint 
radiance; and creeping close to the veranda, Ales- 
sandro heard voices fitfully talking, — the Senora’s 
and Felipe’s ; no word from Ramona. Piteously he 
fixed his eyes on her window ; it was open, but the 
curtains tight drawn ; no stir, no sound. Where was 
she ? What had been done to his love ? Only the 
tireless caution and infinite patience of his Indian 
blood kept Alessandro from going to her window. 
But he would imperil nothing by acting on his own 
responsibility. He would wait, if it were till day- 
light, till his love made a sign. Certainly before 
long Senor Felipe would come to his veranda bed, and 
then he could venture to speak to him. But it was 


166 


RAMONA. 


near midnight when the door of Felipe’s room opened, 
and he and his mother came out, still speaking in low 
tones. Felipe lay down on his couch ; his mother, 
bending over, kissed him, bade him good-night, and 
went into her own room. 

It had been some time now since Alessandro had 
left off sleeping on the veranda floor by Felipe’s side. 
Felipe was so well it was not needful. But Felipe 
felt sure he would come to-night, and was not sur- 
prised when, a few minutes after the Senora’s door 
closed, he heard a low voice through the vines, “ Senor 
Felipe ? ” 

“ Hush, Alessandro,” whispered Feliper “ Do not 
make a sound. To-morrow morning early I will see 
you, behind the little sheepfold. It is not safe to 
talk here.” 

“ Where is the Senorita ? ” Alessandro breathed 
rather than said. 

“ In her room,” answered Felipe. 

“ Well ? ” said Alessandro. 

“ Yes,” said Felipe, hoping he was not lying ; and 
this was all Alessandro had to comfort himself with, 
through his long night of watching. No, not all ; one 
other thing comforted him, — the notes of two wood- 
doves, that at intervals he heard, cooing to each other ; 
just the two notes, the call and the answer, “ Love ? ” 
“ Here.” “ Love ? ” “ Here,” — and long intervals of 
silence between. Plain as if written on a page was 
the thing they told. 

“ That is what my Ramona is like,” thought he, 
“ the gentle wood-dove. If she is my wife my people 
will call her Majel, the Wood-Dove.” 


XI. 


W HEN the Senora bade Felipe good-night, she 
did not go to bed. After closing her door, 
she sat down to think what should be done about 
Eamona. It had been a hard task she had set her- 
self, talking all the evening with Felipe without 
alluding to the topic uppermost in her mind. But 
Felipe was still nervous and irritable. She would 
not spoil his night’s rest, she thought, by talking of 
disagreeable things. Moreover, she was not clear in 
her own mind what she wished to have done about 
Alessandro. If Eamona were to be sent away to the 
nuns, which was the only thing the Senora could 
think of as yet, there would be no reason for dis- 
charging Alessandro. And with him the Senora was 
by no means ready to part, though in her first anger 
she had been ready to dismiss him on the spot. As 
she pursued her reflections, the whole situation 
cleared itself in her mind ; so easily do affairs fall 
into line, in the plottings and plannings of an arbi- 
trary person, who makes in his formula no allowance 
for a human element which he cannot control. 

Eamona should be sent in disgrace to the Sisters’ 
School, to be a servant there for the rest of her life. 
The Senora would wash her hands of her forever. 
Even Father Salvierderra himself could not expect 
her any longer to keep such a shameless creature 
under her roof. Her sister’s written instructions had 
provided for the possibility of just such a contingency. 
Going to a secret closet in the wall, behind a life- 
size statue of Saint Catharine, the Senora took out an 


168 


RAMONA. 


iron box, battered and rusty with age, and set it on 
the bed. The key turned with difficulty in the lock. 
It was many years since the Senora had opened this 
box. No one but herself knew of its existence. 
There had been many times in the history of the 
Moreno house when the price of the contents of that 
box would have averted loss and misfortune ; but the 
Senora no more thought of touching the treasure than 
if it had been guarded by angels with fiery swords. 
There they lay, brilliant and shining even in the dim 
light of the one candle, — rubies, emeralds, pearls, 
and yellow diamonds. The Senora’ s lip curled as she 
looked at them. “ Fine dowry, truly, for a creature 
like this!” she said. “Well I knew in the beginning 
no good would come of it ; base begotten, base born, 
she has but carried out the instincts of her nature. 
I suppose I may be grateful that my own son was too 
pure to be her prey ! ” “ To be given to my adopted 
daughter, Eamona Ortegna, on her wedding day,” — 
so the instructions ran, — “ if she weds worthily and 
with your approval. Should such a misfortune oc- 
cur, which I do not anticipate, as that she should 
prove unworthy, then these jewels, and all I have left 
to her of value, shall be the property of the Church.” 

“ No mention as to what I am to do with the girl 
herself if she proves unworthy,” thought the Senora, 
bitterly ; “ but the Church is the place for her ; ho 
other keeping will save her from the lowest depths of 
disgrace. I recollect my sister said that Angus had 
at first intended to give the infant to the Church. 
Would to God he had done so, or left it with its In- 
dian mother ! ” and the Senora rose, and paced the 
floor. The paper of her dead sister’s handwriting fell 
at Jber feet. As she walked, her long skirt swept it 
rustling to and fro. She stooped, picked it up, read 
it again, with increasing bitterness. No softness at 
the memory of her sister’s love for the little child ; no 


RAMONA. 


169 


relenting. “ Unworthy ! ” Yes, that was a mild word 
to apply to Bamona, now. It was all settled ; and 
when the girl was once out of the house, the Senora 
would breathe easier. She and Felipe would lead 
their lives together, and Felipe would wed some day. 
Was there a woman fair enough, good enough, for 
Felipe to wed ? But he must wed ; and the place 
would be gay with children’s voices, and Bamona 
would be forgotten. 

The Senora did not know how late it was. “ I will 
tell her to-night,” she said. “ I will lose no time ; 
and now she shall hear who her mother was ! ” 

It was a strange freak of just impulse in the 
Senora’s angry soul, which made her suddenly re- 
member that Bamona had had no supper, and led her 
to go to the kitchen, get a jug of milk and some 
bread, and take them to the room. Turning the key 
cautiously, that Felipe might not hear, she opened 
the door and glided in. No voice greeted her ; she 
held her candle high up ; no Bamona in sight ; the 
bed was empty. She glanced at the window. It 
was open. A terror seized the Senora ; fresh anger 
also. “ She has run off with Alessandro,” she thought. 
“ What horrible disgrace ! ” Standing motionless, she 
heard a faint, regular breathing from the other side 
of the bed. Hastily crossing the room, she saw a 
sight which had melted a heart that was only ice ; 
but the Sehora’s was stone towards Bamona. There 
lay Bamona on the floor, her head on a pillow at the 
feet of the big Madonna which stood in the corner. 
Her left hand was under her cheek, her right arm 
flung tight around the base of the statue. She was 
sound asleep. Her face was wet with tears. Her 
whole attitude was full of significance. Even help- 
less in sleep, she was one who had taken refuge in 
sanctuary. This thought had been distinct in the 
girl’s mind when she found herself, spite of all her 


170 


RAMONA. 


woe and terror, growing sleepy. “ She won’t dare to 
hurt me at the Virgin’s feet,” she had said ; “ and the 
window is open. Felipe would hear if I called ; and 
Alessandro will watch.” And with a prayer on her 
lips she fell asleep. 

It was Felipe’s nearness more than the Madonna’s, 
which saved her from being roused to hear her doom. 
The Sehora stood for some moments looking at her, 
and at the open window. With a hot rush of dis- 
graceful suspicions, she noted what she had never 
before thought of, that Alessandro, through a&. his 
watching with Felipe, had had close access to Ba- 
mona’s window. “ Shameful creature I ” she repeated 
to herself. “ And she can sleep ! It is well she 
prayed, if the Virgin will hear such!” and she turned 
away, first setting down the jug of milk and the bread 
on a table. Then, with a sudden and still more curi- 
ous mingling of justness in her wrath, she returned, 
and lifting the coverlet from the bed, spread it over 
Bamona, covering her carefully from head to foot. 
Then she went out and again locked the door. 

Felipe, from his bed, heard and divined all, but 
made no sound. “ Thank God, the poor child is 
asleep ! ” he said ; “ and my poor dear mother feared 
to awake fhe by speaking to her ! What will become 
of us all to-morrow ! ” And Felipe tossed and turned, 
and had barely fallen into an uneasy sleep, when his 
mother’s window opened, and she sang the first line 
of the sunrise hymn. Instantly Bamona joined, evi- 
dently awake and ready; and no sooner did the 
watching Alessandro hear the first note of her voice, 
than he struck in ; and Margarita, who had been up 
for an hour, prowling, listening, peering, wondering, 
her soul racked between her jealousy and her fears, — 
even Margarita delayed not to unite ; and Felipe, too, 
sang feebly ; and the volume of the song went up as 
rounded and melodious as if all hearts were at peace 


RAMONA. 


171 


and in harmony, instead of being all full of sorrow, 
confusion, or hatred. But there was no one of them 
all who was not the better for the singing ; Bamona 
and Alessandro most of all. 

“ The saints be praised,” said Alessandro. “ There 
is my wood-dove’s voice. She can sing ! ” And, 
“ Alessandro was near. He watched all night. I 
am glad he loves me,” said Bamona. 

“ To hear those two voices ! ” said the Senora ; 
“ would one suppose they could sing like that ? Per- 
haps it is not so bad as I think.” 

As soon as the song was done, Alessandro ran to 
the sheepfold, where Felipe had said he would see 
him. The minutes would be like years to Alessandro 
till he had seen Felipe. 

Bamona, when she waked and found herself care- 
fully covered, and bread and milk standing on the 
table, felt much reassured. Only the Seiiora’s own 
hand had done this, she felt sure, for she had heard 
her the previous evening turn the key in the lock, 
then violently take it out ; and Bamona knew well 
that the fact of her being thus a prisoner would be 
known to none but the Senora herself. The Senora 
would not set servants to gossiping. She ate her 
bread and milk thankfully, for she was very hungry. 
Then she set her room in order, said her prayers, and 
sat down to wait. For what ? She could not im- 
agine ; in truth, she did not much try. Bamona had 
passed now into a country where the Senora did not 
rule. She felt little fear. Felipe would not see her 
harmed, and she was going away presently with 
Alessandro. It was wonderful what peace and free- 
dom lay in the very thought. The radiance on her 
face of these two new-born emotions was the first 
thing the Senora observed as she opened the door, and 
slowly, very slowly, eying Bamona with a steady 
look, entered the room. This joyous composure on 


172 


RAMONA. 


Ramona’s face angered the Senora, as it had done be- 
fore, when she was dragging her up the garden-walk. 
It seemed to her like nothing less than brazen ef- 
frontery, and it changed the whole tone and manner 
of her address. 

Seating herself opposite Ramona, but at the farthest 
side of the room, she said, in a tone scornful and in- 
sulting, “ What have you to say for yourself ? ” 

Returning the Senora’s gaze with one no less steady, 
Ramona spoke in the same calm tone in which she had 
twice the evening before attempted to stay the Senora’s 
wrath. This time, she was not interrupted. 

“ Senora,” she said slowly, “ I tried to tell you last 
night, but you would not hear me. If you had lis- 
tened, you would not have been so angry. Neither 
Alessandro nor I have done anything wrong, and we 
were not ashamed. We love each other, and we are 
going to be married, and go away. I thank you, 
Senora, for all you have done for me ; I am sure you 
will be a great deal happier when I am away ; ” and 
Ramona looked wistfully, with no shade of resent- 
ment, into the Senora’s dark, shrunken face. “You 
have been very good to do so much for a girl you 
did not love. Thank you for the bread and milk 
last night. Perhaps I can go away with Alessandro 
to-day. I do not know what he will wish. We had 
only just that minute spoken of being married, when 
you found us last night.” 

The Senora’s face was a study during the few mo- 
ments that it took to say these words. She was 
dumb with amazement. Instantaneously, on the first 
sense of relief that the disgrace had not been what 
she supposed, followed a new wrath, if possible hotter 
than the first ; not so much scorn, but a bitterer anger. 
“ Marry ! Marry that Indian ! ” she cried, as soon as 
she found voice. “You marry an Indian? Never! 
Are you mad ? I will never permit it.” 


RAMONA. 


173 


Bamona looked anxiously at her. “ I have never 
disobeyed you, Seiiora she said, “ but this is different 
from all other things; you are not my mother. I 
have promised to marry Alessandro.” 

The girl’s gentleness deceived the Seiiora. 

“ No,” she said icily, “ I am not your mother ; but 
I stand in a mother’s place to you. You were my 
sister”s adopted child, and she gave you to me. You 
cannot marry without my permission, and I forbid 
you ever to speak again of marrying this Indian.” 

The moment had come for the Seiiora Moreno to 
find out, to her surprise and cost, of what stuff this girl 
was made, — this girl, who had for fourteen years lived 
by her side, docile, gentle, sunny, and uncomplaining 
in her loneliness. Springing to her feet, and walk- 
ing swiftly till she stood close face to face with the 
Seiiora, who, herself startled by the girl’s swift motion, 
had also risen to her feet, Bamona said, in a louder, 
firmer voice : “ Seiiora Moreno, you may forbid me 
as much as you please. The whole world cannot keep 
me from marrying Alessandro. I love him. I have 
promised, and I shall keep my word.” And with her 
young lithe arms straight down at her sides, her head 
thrown back, Bamona flashed full in the Seiiora’ s face a 
look of proud defiance. It was the first free moment 
her soul had ever known. She felt herself buo}^ed 
up as by wings in air. Her old terror of the Seiiora 
fell from her like a garment thrown off. 

“ Pshaw ! ” said the Seiiora, contemptuously, half 
amused, in spite of her wrath, by the girl’s, as she 
thought, bootless vehemence, “you talk like a fool. 
Do you not know that I can shut you up in the 
nunnery to-morrow, if I choose ? ” 

“No, you cannot ! ” replied Bamona. 

“ Who, then, is to hinder me ? ” said the Senora, 
insolently. 

“ Alessandro ! ” answered Bamona, proudly. 


174 


RAMONA. 


“ Alessandro ! ” the Senora sneered. “ Alessandro ! 
Ha ! a beggarly Indian, on whom my servants will 
set the dogs, if I bid them ! Ha, ha ! ” 

The Senora’s sneering tone but roused Ramona 
more. “ You would never dare !” she cried ; “ Felipe 
would not permit it ! ” A most unwise retort for 
Ramona. 

“ Felipe ! ” cried the Senora, in a shrill voice. 
“ How dare you pronounce his name ! He will none 
of you, from this hour ! I will forbid him to speak 
to you. Indeed, he will never desire to set eyes on 
you when he hears the truth.” 

“ You are mistaken, Senora,” answered Ramona, 
more gently. “ Felipe is Alessandro’s friend, and — 
mine,” she added, after a second’s pause. 

“ So, ho ! the Senorita thinks she is all-powerful in 
the house of Moreno ! ” cried the Senora. “ We will 
see ! we will see ! Follow me, Senorita Ramona ! ” 
And throwing open the door, the Senora strode out, 
looking back over her shoulder. 

“Follow me !” she cried again sharply, seeing that 
Ramona hesitated ; and Ramona went ; across the 
passage-way leading to the dining-room, out into the 
veranda, down the entire length of it, to the Senora’s 
room, — the Senora walking with a quick, agitated 
step, strangely unlike her usual gait ; Ramona walking 
far slower than was her habit, and with her eyes bent 
on the ground. As they passed the dining-room door, 
Margarita, standing just inside, shot at Ramona a 
vengeful, malignant glance. 

“ She would help the Senora against me in any- 
thing,” thought Ramona ; and she felt a thrill of fear, 
such as the Senora with all her threats had not 
stirred. 

The Sehora’s windows were open. She closed them 
both, and drew the curtains tight. Then she locked 
the door, Ramona watching her every movement. 


RAMONA. 


175 


“ Sit down in that chair,” said the Senora, pointing 
to one near the fireplace. A sudden nervous terror 
seized Ramona. 

“ I would rather stand, Senora,” she said. 

“ Do as I bid you ! ” said the Senora, in a husky 
tone ; and Ramona obeyed. It was a low, broad arm- 
chair, and as she sank back into it, her senses seemed 
leaving her. She leaned her head against the back 
and closed her eyes. The room swam. She was 
roused by the Senora’ s strong smelling-salts held for 
her to breathe, and a mocking taunt from the Senora’s 
iciest voice : “ The Senorita does not seem so over- 
strong as she did a few moments back ! ” 

Ramona tried to reason with herself ; surely no 
ill could happen to her, in this room, within call 
of the whole house. But an inexplicable terror had 
got possession of her ; and when the Senora, with a 
sneer on her face, took hold of the Saint Catharine 
statue, and wheeling it half around, brought into view 
a door in the wall, with a big iron key in the key- 
hole, which she proceeded to turn, Ramona shook 
with fright. She had read of persons who had been 
shut up alive in cells in the wall, and starved to 
death. With dilating eyes she watched the Senora, 
who, all unaware of her terror, was prolonging it and 
intensifying it by her every act. First she took out 
the small iron box, and set it on a table. Then, kneel- 
ing, she drew out from an inner recess in the closet a 
large leather-covered box, and pulled it, grating and 
scraping along the floor, till it stood in front of Ramona. 
All this time she spoke no word, and the cruel expres- 
sion of her countenance deepened each moment. The 
fiends had possession of the Senora Moreno this morn- 
ing, and no mistake. A braver heart than Ramona’s 
might have indeed been fearful, at being locked up 
alone with a woman who looked like that. 

Finally, she locked the door and wheeled the statue 


176 


RAMONA. 


back into its place. Eamona breathed freer. She was 
not, after all, to be thrust into the wall closet and left 
to starve. She gazed with wonder at the old battered 
boxes. What could it all mean ? 

“ Senorita Eamona Ortegna,” began the Senora, 
drawing up a chair, and seating herself by the table 
on which stood the iron box, “1 will now explain 
to you why you will not marry the Indian Ales- 
sandro.” 

At these words, this name, Eamona was herself 
again, — not her old self, her new self, Alessandro’s 
promised wife. The very sound of his name, even on 
an enemy’s tongue, gave her strength. The terrors 
fled away. She looked up, first at the Senora, then 
at the nearest window. She was young and strong ; 
at one bound, if worst came to worst, she could leap 
through the window, and fly for her life, calling on 
Alessandro. 

“ I shall marry the Indian Alessandro, Senora Mo- 
reno,” she said, in a tone as defiant, and now almost 
as insolent, as the Senora’s own. 

The Senora paid no heed to the words, except to 
say, “ Do not interrupt me again. I have much to 
tell you ; ” and opening the box, she lifted out and 
placed on the table tray after tray of jewels. The 
sheet of written paper lay at the bottom of the box. 

tf Do you see this paper, Senorita Eamona ? ” she 
asked, holding it up. Eamona bowed her head. “ This 
was written by my sister, the Senora Ortegna, who 
adopted you and gave you her name. These were her 
final instructions to me, in regard to the disposition 
to be made of the property she left to you.” 

Eamona’s lips parted. She leaned forward, breath- 
less, listening, while the Senora read sentence after 
sentence. All the pent-up pain, wonder, fear of her 
childhood and her girlhood, as to the mystery of her 
birth, swept over her anew, now. Like one hearkening 


RAMONA. 


177 


for life or death, she listened. She forgot Alessandro. 
She did not look at the jewels. Her eyes never left 
the Senora’ s face. At the close of the reading, the 
Senora said sternly, “ You see, now, that my sister 
left to me the entire disposition of everything belong- 
ing to you.” 

“ But it has n’t said who was my mother,” cried 
Bamona. “ Is that all there is in the paper ? ” 

The Senora looked stupefied. Was the girl feign- 
ing ? Did she care nothing that all these jewels, 
almost a little fortune, were to be lost to her for- 
ever 1 

“ Who was your mother ? ” she exclaimed, scorn- 
fully. “ There was no need to write that down. Your 
mother was an Indian. Everybody knew that ! ” 

At the word “ Indian,” Bamona gave a low cry. 

The Senora misunderstood it. “ Ay,” she said, “ a 
low, common Indian. I told my sister, when she took 
you, the Indian blood in your veins would show some 
day ; and now it has come true.” 

Bamona’s cheeks were scarlet. Her eyes flashed. 
“ Yes, Sen ora Moreno,” she said, springing to her 
feet ; " the Indian blood in my veins shows to-day. I 
understand many things I never understood before. 
Was it because I was an Indian- that you have always 
hated me ? ” 

"You are not an Indian, and I have never hated 
you,” interrupted the Senora. 

Bamona heeded her not, but went on, more and 
more impetuously. “ And if I am an Indian, why do 
you object to my marrying Alessandro ? Oh, I am 
glad I am an Indian ! I am of his people. He will 
be glad ! ” The words poured like a torrent out of 
her lips. In her excitement she came closer and 
closer to the Senora. “ You are a cruel woman,” she 
said. “ I did not know it before ; but now I do. If 
you knew I was an Indian, you had no reason to treat 
12 


178 


RAMONA. 


me so shamefully as you did last night, when you saw 
me with Alessandro. You have always hated me. Is 
my mother alive ? Where does she live ? Tell me ; 
and I will go to her to-day. Tell me ! She will be 
glad that Alessandro loves me ! ” 

It was a cruel look, indeed, and a crueller tone, with 
which the Seiiora answered : “ I have not the least idea 
who your mother was, or if she is still alive. Nobody 
ever knew anything about her, — some low, vicious 
creature, that your father married when he was out of 
his senses, as you are now, when you talk of marrying 
Alessandro ! ” 

“ He married her, then ? ” asked Ramona, with em- 
phasis. “ How know you that, Seiiora Moreno ? ” 

“ He told my sister so,” replied the Seiiora, reluc- 
tantly. She grudged the girl even this much of con- 
solation. 

“ What was his name ? ” asked Ramona. 

“ Phail ; Angus Phail,” the Seiiora replied almost 
mechanically. She found herself strangely constrained 
by Ramona’s imperious earnestness, and she chafed 
under it. The tables were being turned on her, she 
hardly knew how. Ramona seemed to tower in stature, 
and to have the bearing of the one in authority, as she 
stood before her pouring out passionate question after 
question. The Seiiora turned to the larger box, and 
opened it. With unsteady hands she lifted out the 
garments which for so many years had rarely seen 
the light. Shawls and ribosos of damask, laces, 
gowns of satin, of velvet. As the Seiiora flung one 
after another on the chairs, it was a glittering pile of 
shining, costly stuffs. Ramona’s eyes rested on them 
dreamily. 

“ Hid my adopted mother wear all these ? ” she 
asked, lifting in her hand a fold of lace, and holding 
it up to the light, in evident admiration. 

Again the Seiiora misconceived her. The girl 


RAMONA. 


179 


seemed not insensible to the value and beauty of this 
costly raiment. Perhaps she would be lured by it. 

“ All these are yours, Eamona, you understand, on 
your wedding day, if you marry worthily, with my 
permission,” said the Senora, in a voice a shade less 
cold than had hitherto come from her lips. “Did you 
understand what I read you ? ” 

The girl did not answer. She had taken up in her 
hand a ragged, crimson silk handkerchief, which, tied 
in many knots, lay in one corner of the jewel-box. 

“ There are pearls in that,” said the Senora ; “ that 
came with the things your father sent to my sister 
when he died.” 

Ramona’s eyes gleamed. She began untying the 
knots. The handkerchief was old, the knots tied 
tight, and undisturbed for years. As she reached the 
last knot, and felt the hard stones, she paused. “ This 
was my father’s, then ? ” she said. 

“ Yes,” said the Senora, scornfully. She thought 
she had detected a new baseness in the girl. She 
was going to set up a claim to all which had been her 
father’s property. “They were your father’s, and all 
these rubies, and these yellow diamonds ; ” and she 
pushed the tray towards her. 

Ramona had untied the last knot. Holding the 
handkerchief carefully above the tray, she shook the 
pearls out. A strange, spicy fragrance came from 
the silk. The pearls fell in among the rubies, rolling 
right and left, making the rubies look still redder by 
contrast with their snowy whiteness. 

“ I will keep this handkerchief,” she said, thrusting 
it, as she spoke, by a swift resolute movement into 
her bosom. “ I am very glad to have one thing that 
belonged to my father. The jewels, Senora, you can 
give to the Church, if Father Salvierderra thinks that 
is right. I shall marry Alessandro ; ” and still keep- 
ing one hand in her bosom where she had thrust the 


180 


RAMONA . 


handkerchief, she walked away and seated herself 
again in her chair. 

Father Salvierderra ! The name smote the Sefiora 
like a spear-thrust. There could be no stronger evi- 
dence of the abnormal excitement under which she 
had been laboring for the last twenty-four hours, than 
the fact that she had not once, during all this time, 
thought to ask herself what Father Salvierderra would 
say, or might command, in this crisis. Her religion 
and the long habit of its outward bonds had alike 
gone from her in her sudden wrath against Ramona. 
It was with a real terror that she became conscious 
of this. 

“Father Salvierderra?” she stammered; “he has 
nothing to do with it.” 

But Ramona saw the change in the Senora’s face, 
at the word, and followed up her advantage. “Father 
Salvierderra has to do with everything,” she said 
boldly. “ He knows Alessandro. He will not forbid 
me to marry him, and if he did — ” Ramona stopped. 
She also was smitten with a sudden terror at the 
vista opening before her, — of a disobedience to Father 
Salvierderra. 

“ And if he did,” repeated the Senora, eying Ramona 
keenly, “ would you disobey him ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Ramona. 

“ I will tell Father Salvierderra what you say,” re- 
torted the Senora, sarcastically, “ that he may spare 
himself the humiliation of laying any commands on 
you, to be thus disobeyed.” 

Ramona’s lip quivered, and her eyes filled with 
the tears which no other of the Senora’s taunts had 
been strong enough to bring. Dearly she loved the 
old monk ; had loved him since her earliest recollec- 
tion. His displeasure would be far more dreadful to 
her than the Senora’s. His would give her grief; 
the Senora’s, at utmost, only terror. 


RAMONA. 


181 


Clasping her hands, she said : “ Oh, Senora, have 
mercy ! Do not say that to the Father ! ” 

“ It is my duty to tell the Father everything that 
happens in my family,” answered the Senora, chill- 
ingly. “ He will agree with me, that if you persist in 
this disobedience you will deserve the severest pun- 
ishment. I shall tell him all ; ” and she began putting 
the trays back in the box. 

“ You will not tell him as it really is, Senora,” per- 
sisted Eamona. “ I will tell him myself.” 

“ You shall not see him ! I will take care of 
that ! ” cried the Senora, so vindictively that Eamona 
shuddered. 

“ I will give you one more chance,” said the Senora, 
pausing in the act of folding up one of the damask 
gowns. “ Will you obey me ? Will you promise to 
have nothing more to do with this Indian ? ” 

“ Never, Senora,” replied Eamona ; “ never ! ” 

“Then the consequences be on your own head,” 
cried the Senora. “ Go to your room ! And, hark ! I 
forbid you to speak of all this to Senor Felipe. Do 
you hear ? ” 

Eamona bowed her head. “ I hear,” she said ; and 
gliding out of the room, closed the door behind her, 
and instead of going to her room, sped like a hunted 
creature down the veranda steps, across the garden, 
calling in a low tone, “ Felipe ! Felipe ! Where are 
you, Felipe ? ” 


XII. 


T HE little sheepfold, or corral, was beyond the 
artichoke-patch, on that southern slope whose 
sunshine had proved so disastrous a temptation to 
Margarita in the matter of drying the altar-cloth. It 
was almost like a terrace, this long slope ; and the 
sheepfold, being near the bottom, was wholly out of 
sight of the house. This was the reason Felipe had se- 
lected it as the safest spot for his talk with Alessandro. 

When Ramona reached the end of the trellised 
walk in the garden, she halted and looked to the right 
and left. No one was in sight. As she had entered 
the Senora’s room an hour before, she had caught a 
glimpse of some one, she felt almost positive it was 
Felipe, turning off in the path to the left, leading 
down to the sheepfold. She stood irresolute for a 
moment, gazing earnestly down this path. “If the 
saints would only tell me where he is ! ” she said 
aloud. She trembled as she stood there, fearing each 
second to hear the Senora’s voice calling her. But 
fortune was favoring Ramona, for once ; even as the 
words passed her lips, she saw Felipe coming slowly 
up the bank. She flew to meet him. “ Oh, Felipe, 
Felipe ! ” she began. 

“Yes, dear, I know it all,” interrupted Felipe; 
“Alessandro has told me.” 

“She forbade me to speak to you, Felipe,” said 
Ramona, “ but I could not bear it. What are we to 
do ? Where is Alessandro ? ” 

“ My mother forbade you to speak to me ! ” cried Fe- 
lipe, in a tone of terror. “ Oh, Ramona, why did you 


RAMONA. 


183 


disobey her ? If she sees us talking, she will be even 
more displeased. Fly back to your room. Leave it 
all to me. I will do all that I can.” 

“ But, Felipe,” began Kamona, wringing her hands 
in distress. 

“ I know ! I know ! ” said Felipe ; “ but you must 
not make my mother any more angry. I don’t know 
what she will do till I talk with her. Do go back to 
your room ! Did she not tell you to stay there ? ” 

“ Yes,” sobbed Kamona, “ but I cannot. Oh, Felipe, 
I am so afraid ! Do help us ! Do you think you can ? 
You won’t let her shut me up in the convent, will 
you, Felipe ? Where is Alessandro ? Why can’t I go 
away with him this minute? Where is he? Dear 
Felipe, let me go now.” 

Felipe’s face was horror-stricken. “ Shut you in the 
convent ! ” he gasped. “ Did she say that ? Kamona, 
dear, fly back to your room. Let me talk to her. 
Fly, I implore you. I can’t do anything for you if 
she sees me talking with you now ; ” and he turned 
away, and walked swiftly down the terrace. 

Kamona felt as if she were indeed alone in the 
world. How could she go back into that house ! 
Slowly she walked up the garden-path again/medi- 
tating a hundred wild plans of escape. Where, where 
was Alessandro ? Why did he not appear for her res- 
cue ? Her heart failed her ; and when she entered her 
room, she sank on the floor in a paroxysm of hopeless 
weeping.. If she had known that Alessandro was 
already a good half-hour’s journey on his way to 
Temecula, galloping farther and farther away from 
her each moment, she would have despaired indeed. 

This was what Felipe, after hearing the whole story, 
had counselled him to do. Alessandro had given him 
so vivid a description of the Senora’s face and tone, 
when she had ordered him out of her sight, that 
Felipe was alarmed. He had never seen his mother 


184 


RAMONA. 


angry like that. He could not conceive why her 
wrath should have been so severe. The longer he 
talked with Alessandro, the more he felt that it would 
be wiser for him to be out of sight till the first force 
of her anger had been spent. “ I will say that I sent 
you,” said Felipe, “ so she cannot feel that you have 
committed any offence in going. Come back in four 
days, and by that time it will be all settled what you 
shall do.” 

It went hard with Alessandro to go without seeing 
Bamona ; but it did not need Felipe’s exclamation of 
surprise, to convince him that it would be foolhardy 
to attempt it. His own judgment had told him that 
it would be out of the question. 

“But you will tell her all, Seiior Felipe? You 
will tell her that it is for her sake I go ? ” the poor 
fellow said piteously, gazing into Felipe’s eyes as if 
he would read his inmost soul. 

“ I will, indeed, Alessandro ; I will,” replied Felipe ; 
and he held his hand out to Alessandro, as to a friend 
and equal. “ You may trust me to do all I can do for 
Bamona and for you.” 

“ God bless you, Seiior Felipe,” answered Alessan- 
dro, gravely, a slight trembling of his voice alone 
showing how deeply he was moved. 

“He ’s a noble fellow,” said Felipe to himself, as 
he watched Alessandro leap on his horse, which had 
been tethered near the corral all night, — “a noble fel- 
low ! There is n’t a man among all my friends who 
would have been manlier or franker than he has been 
in this whole business. I don’t in the least wonder 
that Bamona loves him. He ’s a noble fellow ! But 
what is to be done ! What is to be done ! ” 

Felipe was sorely perplexed. No sharp crisis of 
disagreement had ever arisen between him and his 
mother, but he felt that one was coming now. He 
was unaware of the extent of his influence over her. 


RAMONA. 


185 


He doubted whether he could move her very far. 
The threat of shutting Eamona up in the convent 
terrified him more than he liked to admit to himself. 
Had she power to do that ? Felipe did not know. 
She must believe that she had, or she would not have 
made the threat. Felipe’s whole soul revolted at the 
cruel injustice of the idea. 

“ As if it were a sin for the poor girl to love Ales- 
sandro ! ” he said. “ I ’d help her to run away with 
him, if worse comes to worst. What can make my 
mother feel so ! ” And Felipe paced back and forth till 
the sun was high, and the sharp glare and heat remind- 
ed him that he must seek shelter ; then he threw him- 
self down under the willows. He dreaded to go into 
the house. His instinctive shrinking from the disa- 
greeable, his disposition to put off till another time, 
held him back, hour by hour. The longer he thought 
the situation over, the less he knew how to broach the 
subject to his mother; the more uncertain he felt 
whether it would be wise for him to broach it at all. 
Suddenly he heard his name- called. It was Margarita, 
who had been sent to call him to dinner. “ Good 
heavens ! dinner already ! ” he cried, springing to his 
feet. 

“Yes, Senor,” replied Margarita, eyeing him obser- 
vantly. She had seen him talking with Alessandro, 
had seen Alessandro galloping away down the river 
road. She had also gathered much from the Senora’s 
look, and Eamona’s, as they passed the dining-room 
door together soon after breakfast. Margarita could 
have given a tolerably connected account of all that 
had happened within the last twenty-four hours to 
the chief actors in this tragedy which had so suddenly 
begun in the Moreno household. Not supposed to 
know anything, she yet knew nearly all ; and her 
every pulse was beating high with excited conjecture 
and wonder as to what would come next. 


186 


RAMONA. 


Dinner was a silent and constrained meal, — Ba- 
mona absent, the fiction of her illness still kept up ; 
Felipe embarrassed, and unlike himself ; the Senora 
silent, full of angry perplexity. At her first glance 
in Felipe’s face, she thought to herself, “ Eamona has 
spoken to him. When and how did she do it ? ” For 
it had been only a few moments after Bamona had 
left her presence, that she herself had followed, and, 
seeing the girl in her own room, had locked the door 
as before, and had spent the rest of the morning on 
the veranda within hands’ reach of Bamona’s window. 
How, when, and where had she contrived to commu- 
nicate with Felipe ? The longer the Senora studied 
over this, the angrier and more baffled she felt ; to be 
outwitted was even worse to her than to be disobeyed. 
Under her very eyes, as it were, something evidently 
had happened, not only against her will, but which 
she could not explain. Her anger even rippled out 
towards Felipe, and was fed by the recollection of 
Bamona’s unwise retort, “ Felipe would not let you ! ” 
What had Felipe done or said to make the girl so 
sure that he would be on her side and Alessandro’s ? 
Was it come to this, that she, the Senora Moreno, 
was to be defied in her own house by children and 
servants ! 

It was with a tone of severe displeasure that she 
said to Felipe, as she rose from the dinner-table, 
“ My son, I would like to have some conversation 
with you in my room, if you are at leisure.” 

“ Certainly, mother,” said Felipe, a load rolling off 
his mind at her having thus taken the initiative, for 
which he lacked courage ; and walking swiftly to- 
wards her, he attempted to put his arm around her 
waist, as it was his affectionate habit frequently to 
do. She repulsed him gently, but bethinking herself, 
passed her hand through his arm, and leaning on it 
heavily as she walked, said : “ This is the most fitting 


RAMONA. 


187 


way, my son. I must lean more and more heavily 
on you each year now. Age is telling on me fast. 
Do you not find me greatly changed, Felipe, in the 
last year ? ” 

“ No, madre mia,” replied Felipe, “ indeed I do not. 
I see not that you have changed in the last ten years.” 
And he was honest in this. His eyes did not note 
the changes so clear to others, and for the best of 
reasons. The face he saw was one no one else ever 
beheld ; it was kindled by emotion, transfigured by 
love, whenever it was turned towards him. 

The Senora sighed deeply as she answered : “ That 
must be because you so love me, Felipe. I myself 
see the changes even day by day. Troubles tell on 
me as they did not when I was younger. Even within 
the last twenty-four hours I seem to myself to have 
aged frightfully;” and she looked keenly at Felipe 
as she seated herself in the arm-chair where poor 
Eamona had swooned a few hours before. Felipe 
remained standing before her, gazing, with a tender 
expression, upon her features, but saying nothing. 

“ I see that Eamona has told you all ! ” she con- 
tinued, her voice hardening as she spoke. What a 
fortunate wording of her sentence ! 

“ No, mother ; it was not Eamona, it was Ales- 
sandro, who told me this morning, early,” Felipe an- 
swered hastily, hurrying on, to draw the conversation 
as far away from Eamona as possible. “ He came and 
spoke to me last night after I was in bed ; but I told 
him to wait till morning, and then I would hear all 
he had to' say.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Senora, relieved. Then, as Felipe 
remained silent, she asked, “ And what did he say ? ” 

“He told me all that had happened.” 

“ All ! ” said the Senora, sneeringly. “ Do you sup- 
pose that he told you all ? ” 

“ He said that you had bidden him begone out of 


188 


RAMONA. 


your sight,” said Felipe, “ and that he supposed he 
must go. So I told him to go at once. I thought 
you would prefer not to see him again.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Senora again, startled, gratified 
that Felipe had so promptly seconded her action, but 
sorry that Alessandro had gone. “ Ah, I did not know 
whether you would think it best to discharge him at 
once or not ; I told him he must answer to you. I 
did not know but you might devise some measures 
by which he could be retained on the estate.” 

Felipe stared. Could he believe his ears? This 
did not sound like the relentless displeasure he had 
expected. Could Eamona have been dreaming ? In 
his astonishment, he did not weigh his mother’s words 
carefully ; he did not carry his conjecture far enough ; 
he did not stop to make sure that retaining -Ales- 
sandro on the estate might not of necessity bode 
any good to Eamona ; but with his usual impetuous 
ardor, sanguine, at the first glimpse of hope, that all 
was well, he exclaimed joyfully, “ Ah, dear mother, 
if that could only be done, all would be well ; ” and, 
never noting the expression of his mother’s face, nor 
pausing to take breath, he poured out all he thought 
and felt on the subject. 

“ That is just what I have been hoping for ever 
since I saw that he and Eamona were growing so 
fond of each other. He is a splendid fellow, and the 
best hand we have ever had on the place. All the 
men like him ; he would make a capital overseer ; 
and if we put him in charge of the whole estate, there 
would not be any objection to his marrying Eamona. 
That would give them a good living here with us.” 

“ Enough ! ” cried the Senora, in a voice which fell 
on Felipe’s ears like a voice from some other world, 
— so hollow, so strange. He stopped speaking, and 
uttered an ejaculation of amazement. At the first 
words he had uttered, the Senora had fixed her eyes 


RAMONA. 


189 


on the floor, — a habit of hers when she wished to 
listen with close attention. Lifting her eyes now, 
and fixing them full on Felipe, she regarded him with 
a look which not all his filial reverence could bear 
without resentment. It was nearly as scornful as 
that with which she had regarded Eamona. Felipe 
colored. 

“ Why do you look at me like that, mother ? ” he 
exclaimed. “ What have I done ? ” 

The Senora waved her hand imperiously. “ Enough ! ” 
she reiterated. “ Do not say any more. I wish to 
think for a few moments ; ” and she fixed her eyes on 
the floor again. 

Felipe studied her countenance. A more nearly 
rebellious feeling than he had supposed himself 
capable of slowly arose in his heart. Now he for 
the first time perceived what terror his mother must 
inspire in a girl like Eamona. 

“ Poor little one ! ” he thought. “ If my mother 
looked at her as she did at me just now, I wonder she 
did not die,” 

A great storm was going on in the Sefiora’s bosom. 
Wrath against Eamona was uppermost in it. In 
addition to all else, the girl had now been the cause, 
or at least the occasion, of Felipe’s having, for the 
first time in his whole life, angered her beyond her 
control. 

“ As if I had not suffered enough by reason of that 
creature,” she thought bitterly to herself, “ without 
her coming between me and Felipe!” 

But nothing could long come between the Senora 
and Felipe. Like a fresh lava-stream flowing down 
close on the track of its predecessor, came the rush 
of the mother’s passionate love for her son close on 
the passionate anger at his words. 

When she lifted her eyes they were full of tears, 
which it smote Felipe to see. As she gazed at him, 


190 


RAMONA. 


they rolled down her cheeks, and she said in trem- 
bling tones : “ Forgive me, my child ; I had not thought 
anything could make me thus angry with you. That 
shameless creature is costing us too dear. She- must 
leave the house.” 

Felipe’s heart gave a bound ; Ramona had not been 
mistaken, then. A bitter shame seized him at his 
mother’s cruelty. But her tears made him tender; 
and it was in a gentle, even pleading voice that he 
replied : “ I do not see, mother, why you call Ramona 
shameless. There is nothing wrong in her loving 
Alessandro.” 

“ I found her in his arms ! ” exclaimed the Sehora. 

“ I know,” said Felipe; “Alessandro told me that 
he had just at that instant told her he loved her, and 
she had said she loved him, and would marry him, 
just as you came up.” 

“ Humph ! ” retorted the Senora ; “ do you think 
that Indian would have dared to speak a word of 
love to the Sehorita Ramona Ortegna, if she had not 
conducted herself shamelessly? i wonder that he 
concerned himself to speak about marriage to her 
at all.” 

“ Oh, mother ! mother ! ” was all that Felipe could 
say to this. He was aghast. He saw now, in a flash, 
the whole picture as it lay in his mother’s mind, and 
his heart sank within him. “ Mother !” he repeated, 
in a tone which spoke volumes. 

“ Ay,” she continued, “ that is what I say. I see 
no reason why he hesitated to take her, as he would 
take any Indian squaw, with small ceremony of 
marrying.” 

“ Alessandro would not take any woman that way 
any quicker than I would, mother,” said Felipe 
courageously ; “ you do him injustice.” He longed to 
add, " And Ramona too,” but he feared to make bad 
matters worse by pleading for her at present. 


RAMONA. 


191 


“ No, I do not,” said the Senora ; “ I do Alessandro 
full justice. I think very few men would have be- 
haved as well as he has under the same temptation. 
I do not hold him in the least responsible for all that 
has happened. It is all Ramona’s fault.” 

Felipe’s patience gave way. He had not known, 
till now, how very closely this pure and gentle girl, 
whom he had loved as a sister in his boyhood, and 
had come near loving as a lover in his manhood, 
had twined herself around his heart. He could not 
remain silent another moment, and hear her thus 
wickedly accused. 

“ Mother ! ” he exclaimed, in a tone which made 
the Senora look up at him in sudden astonishment. 
“ Mother, I cannot help it if I make you very angry ; 
I must speak; I can’t bear to hear you say such 
things of Ramona. I have seen for a long time that 
Alessandro loved the very ground under her feet; 
and Ramona would not have been a woman if she 
had not seen it too ! She has seen it, and has felt it,, 
and has come to love him with all her soul, just as I 
hope some woman will love me one of these days. 
If I am ever loved as well as she loves Alessandro, I 
shall be lucky. I think they ought to be married ; 
and I think we ought to take Alessandro on to the 
estate, so that they can live here. I don’t see any- 
thing disgraceful in it, nor anything wrong, nor any- 
thing but what was perfectly natural. You know, 
mother, it is n’t as if Ramona really belonged to our 
family ; you know she is half Indian.” A scornful 
ejaculation from his mother interrupted him here ; 
but Felipe hurried on, partly because he was borne 
out of himself at last by impetuous feeling, partly 
that he dreaded to stop, because if he did, his mother 
would speak ; and already he felt a terror of what her 
next words might be. “ I have often thought about 
Ramona’s future, mother. You know a great many 


192 


RAMONA. 


men would not want to marry her, just because she is 
half Indian. You, yourself, would never have given 
your consent to my marrying her, if I had wanted 
to.” Again an exclamation from the Senora, this 
time more of horror than of scorn. But Felipe 
pressed on. “ No, of course you would not, I always 
knew that ; except for that, I might have loved her 
myself, for a sweeter girl never drew breath in this 
God’s earth.” Felipe was reckless now ; having en- 
' tered on this war, he would wage it with every 
weapon that lay within his reach; if one did not 
tell, another might. “ You have never loved her. 
I don’t know that you have ever even liked her; 
I don’t think you have. I know, as a little boy, I 
always used to see how much kinder you were to me 
than to her, and I never could understand it. And 
you are unjust to her now. I ’ve been watching her 
all summer ; I ’ve seen her and Alessandro together 
continually. You know yourself, mother, he has 
been with us on the veranda, day after day, just as if 
he were one of the family. I ’ve watched them by 
the hour, when I lay there so sick ; I thought you 
must have seen it too. I don’t believe Alessandro 
has ever looked or said or done a thing I would n’t 
have done in his place ; and I don’t believe Ramona 
has ever looked, said, or done a thing I would not 
be willing to have my own sister do ! ” Here Felipe 
paused. . He had made his charge ; like a young 
impetuous general, massing all his forces at the 
onset ; he had no reserves. It is not the way to 
take Gibraltars. 

When he paused, literally breathless, he had spo- 
ken so fast, — and even yet Felipe was not quite 
strong, so sadly had the fever undermined his con- 
stitution, — the Senora looked at him interrogatively, 
and said in a now composed tone : “ You do not be- 
lieve that Ramona has done anything that you would 


RAMONA. 


193 


not be willing to have your own sister do ? Would 
you be willing that your own sister should marry 
Alessandro ? ” 

Clever Senora Moreno ! During the few moments 
that Felipe had been speaking, she had perceived 
certain things which it would be beyond her power 
to do ; certain others that it would be impolitic to 
try to do. Nothing could possibly compensate her 
for antagonizing Felipe. Nothing could so deeply 
wound her, as to have him in a resentful mood 
towards her; or so weaken her real control of him, 
as to have him feel that she arbitrarily overruled 
his preference or his purpose. In presence of her 
imperious will, even her wrath capitulated and sur- 
rendered. There would be no hot words between 
her and her son. He should believe that he deter- 
mined the policy of the Moreno house, even in this 
desperate crisis. 

Felipe did not answer. A better thrust was never 
seen on any field than the Senora’s question. She 
repeated it, still more deliberately, in her wonted 
gentle voice. The Senora was herself again, as she 
had not been for a moment since she came upon 
Alessandro and Eamona at the brook. How just 
and reasonable the question sounded, as she repeated 
it slowly, with an expression in her eyes, of poising 
and weighing matters. “Would you be willing that 
your own sister should marry Alessandro ? ” - 

Felipe was embarrassed. He saw whither he was 
being led. He could give but one answer to this 
question. “No, mother,” he said, “I should not; 
but—” 

“ Never mind buts,” interrupted his mother ; “ we 
have not got to those yet ; ” and she smiled on Fe- 
lipe, — an affectionate smile, but it somehow gave 
him a feeling of dread. “ Of course I knew you could 
make but one answer to my question. If you had 
13 


194 


RAMONA. 


a sister, you would rather see her dead than married 
to any one of these Indians.” 

Felipe opened his lips eagerly, to speak. “Not 
so,” he said. 

“ Wait, dear!” exclaimed his mother. “ One thing 
at a time. I see how full your loving heart is, and I 
was never prouder of you as my son than when lis- 
tening just now to your eloquent defence of Ramona. 
Perhaps you may be right and I wrong as to her 
character and conduct. We will not discuss those 
points.” It was here that the Senora had perceived 
some things that it would be out of her power to do. 
“ We will not discuss those, because they do not 
touch the real point at issue. What it is our duty 
to do by Ramona, in such a matter as this, does 
not turn on her worthiness or unworthiness. The 
question is, Is it right for you to allow her to do what 
you would not allow your own sister to do ? ” The 
Senora paused for a second, noted with secret satis- 
faction how puzzled and unhappy Felipe looked ; then, 
in a still gentler voice, she went on, “You surely 
would not think that right, my son, would you ? ” 
And now the Senora waited for an answer. 

“ No, mother,” came reluctantly from Felipe’s lips. 
“ I suppose not ; but — ” 

“I was sure my own son could make no other 
reply,” interrupted the Senora.' She did not. wish 
Felipe at present to do more than reply to her ques- 
tions. “ Of course it would not be right for us to let 
Ramona do anything which we would not let her do 
if she were really of our own blood. That is the way 
I have always looked at my obligation to her. My 
sister intended to rear her as her own daughter. She 
had given her her own name. When my sister died, 
she transferred to me all her right and responsibility 
in and for the child. You do not suppose that if 
your aunt had lived, she would have ever given her 


RAMONA. 


195 


consent to her adopted daughter’s marrying an In- 
dian, do you ? ” 

Again the Senora paused for a reply, and again the 
reluctant Felipe said, in a low tone, “No, I suppose 
she would not.” 

“Very well. Then that lays a double obligation 
on us. It is not only that we are not to permit 
Ramona to do a thing which we would consider dis- 
graceful to one of our own blood ; we are not to betray 
the trust reposed in us by the only person who had 
a right to control her, and who transferred that trust 
to us. Is not that so ? ” 

“Yes, mother,” said the unhappy Felipe. 

He saw the meshes closing around him. He felt 
that there was a flaw somewhere in his mother’s rea- 
soning, but he could not point it out; in fact, he 
could hardly make it distinct to himself. His brain 
was confused. Only one thing he saw clearly, and 
that was, that after all had been said and done, 
Ramona would still marry Alessandro. But it was 
evident that it would never be with his mother’s con- 
sent. “ Nor with mine either, openly, the way she 
puts it. I don’t see how it can be ; and yet I have 
promised Alessandro to do all I could for him. Curse 
the luck, I wish he had never set foot on the place ! ” 
said Felipe in his heart, growing unreasonable, and 
tired with the perplexity. 

The Senora continued : “ I shall always blame my- 
self bitterly for having failed to see what was going 
on. As you say, Alessandro has been with us a great 
deal since your illness, with his music, and singing, 
and one thing and another ; but I can truly say that 
I never thought of Ramona’s being in danger of look- 
ing upon him in the light of a possible lover, any 
more than of her looking thus upon Juan Canito, 
or Luigo, or any other of the herdsmen or labor- 
ers. I regret it more than words can express, and I 


196 


RAMONA. 


do not know what we can do, now that it has 
happened.” 

“ That ’s it, mother ! That ’s it ! ” broke in Felipe. 
“ You see, you see it is too late now.” 

The Sen ora went on as if Felipe had not spoken. 
“I suppose you would really very much regret to 
part with Alessandro, and your word is in a way 
pledged to him, as you had asked him if he would 
stay on the place. Of course, now that all this has 
happened, it would be very unpleasant for Ramona 
to stay here, and see him continually — at least for 
a time, until she gets over this strange passion she 
seems to have conceived for him. It will not last. 
Such sudden passions never do.” The Senora artfully 
interpolated, “What should you think, Felipe, of 
having her go back to the Sisters’ school for a time ? 
She was very happy there.” 

The Seiiora had strained a point too far. Felipe’s 
self-control suddenly gave way, and as impetuously 
as he had spoken in the beginning, he spoke again 
now, nerved by the memory of Ramona’s face and 
tone as she had cried to him in the garden, “ Oh, 
Felipe, you won’t let her shut me up in the convent, 
will you ? ” “ Mother ! ” he cried, “ you would never 
do that. You would not shut the poor girl up in the 
convent ! ” 

The Senora raised her eyebrows in astonishment. 
“ Who spoke of shutting up ? ” she said. “ Ramona 
has already been there at school. She might go 
again. She is not too old to learn. A change of 
scene and occupation is the best possible cure for a 
girl who has a thing of this sort to get over. Can 
you propose anything better, my son ? What would 
you advise ? ” And a third time the Senora paused 
for an answer. 

These pauses and direct questions of the Senora’s 
were like nothing in life so much as like that stage 


RAMONA. 


197 


in a spider’s processes wlien, withdrawing a little 
way from a lialf-entangled victim, which still sup- 
poses himself free, it rests from its weaving, and 
watches the victim flutter. Subtle questions like 
these, assuming, taking for granted as settled, much 
which had never been settled at all, were among the 
best weapons in the Senora’s armory. They rarely 
failed her. 

“ Advise ! ” cried Felipe, excitedly. “ Advise ! 
This is what I advise — to let Ramona and Alessan- 
dro marry. I can’t help all you say about our obli- 
gations. I dare say you ’re right ; and it ’s a cursedly 
awkward complication for us, anyhow, the way you 
put it.” 

“ Yes, awkward for you, as the head of our house,” 
interrupted the Senora, sighing. “ I don’t quite see 
how you would face it.” 

“ Well, I don’t propose to face it,” continued Felipe, 
testily. “ I don’t propose to have anything to do 
with it, from first to last. Let her go away with him, 
if she wants to.” 

“ Without our consent ? ” said the Senora, gently. 

“ Yes, without it, if she can’t go with it ; and I don’t 
see, as you have stated it, how we could exactly take 
any responsibility about marrying her to Alessandro. 
But for heaven’s sake, mother, let her go ! She will 
go, any way. You have n’t the least idea how she 
loves Alessandro, or how he loves her. Let her. go ! ” 

“Do you really think she would run away with 
him, if it came to that ? ” asked the Senora, earnestly. 
“ Run away and marry him, spite of our refusing to 
consent to the marriage ? ” 

“ I do,” said Felipe. 

“ Then it is your opinion, is it, that the only thing 
left for us to do, is to wash our hands of it altogether, 
and leave her free to do what she pleases ? ” 

“That’s just what I do think, mother,” replied 


198 


RAMONA. 


Felipe, his heart growing lighter at her words. 
“That’s just what I do think. We can’t prevent 
it, and it is of no use to try. Do let us tell them 
they can do as they like.” 

“Of course, Alessandro must leave us, then , 1 * said 
the Senora. “ They could not stay here.” 

“ I don’t see why !” said Felipe, anxiously. 

“ You will, my son, if you think a moment. Could 
we possibly give a stronger indorsement to their 
marriage than by keeping them here ? Don’t you 
see that would be so ? ” 

Felipe’s eyes fell. “ Then I suppose they could n’t 
be married here, either,” he said. 

“ What more could we do than that, for a marriage 
that we heartily approved of, my son ? ” 

“ True, mother ; ” and Felipe clapped his hand to his 
forehead. “ But then w^e force them to run away ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” said the Senora, icily. “ If they go, 
they will go of their own accord. We hope they will 
never do anything so foolish and wrong. If they do, 
I suppose we shall always be held in a measure re- 
sponsible for not having prevented it. But if you 
think it is not wise, or of no use to attempt that, I 
do not see what there is to be done.” 

Felipe did not speak. He felt discomfited ; felt 
as if he had betrayed his friend Alessandro, his 
sister Bamona ; as if a strange complication, network 
of circumstances, had forced him into a false position ; 
he did not see what more he could ask, what more 
could be asked, of his mother ; he did not see, either, 
that much less could have been granted to Alessandro 
and Bamona ; he was angry, wearied, perplexed. 

The Senora studied his face. “ You do not seem 
satisfied, Felipe dear,” she said tenderly. “ As, in- 
deed, how could you be in this unfortunate state of 
affairs ? But can you think of anything different for 
us to do ? ” 


RAMONA. 


199 


"No,” said Felipe, bitterly. “I can’t, that’s the 
worst of it. It is just turning Ramona out of the 
house, that’s all.” 

" Felipe! Felipe!” exclaimed the Seiiora, "how 
unjust you are to yourself! You know you would 
never do that ! You know that she has always had a 
home here as if she were a daughter , and always will 
have, as long as she wishes it. If she chooses to turn 
her back on it, and go away, is it our fault ? Do not 
let your pity for this misguided girl blind you to 
what is just to yourself and to me. Turn Ramona 
out of the house ! You know I promised my sister 
to bring her up as my own child ; and I have always 
felt that my son would receive the trust from me, when 
I died. Ramona has a home under the Moreno roof 
so long as she will accept it. It is not just, Felipe, 
to say that we turn her out ; ” and tears stood in the 
Senora’s eyes. 

“ Forgive me, dear mother,” cried the unhappy 
Felipe. "Forgive me for adding one burden to all 
you have to bear. Truth is, this miserable business 
has so distraught my senses, I can’t seem to see 
anything as it is. Dear mother, it is very hard for 
you. I wish it were done with.” 

“ Thanks for your precious sympathy, my Felipe,” 
replied the Seiiora. " If it were not for ) r ou, I should 
long ago have broken down beneath my cares and 
burdens. But among them all, have been few so 
grievous as this. I feel myself and our home dis- 
honored. But we must submit. As you say, Felipe, 
I wish it were done with. It would be as well, per- 
haps, to send for Ramona at once, and tell her what 
we have decided. She is no doubt in great anxiety ; 
we will see her here.” 

Felipe would have greatly preferred to see Ramona 
alone ; but as he knew not how to bring this about, 
he assented to his mother’s suggestion. 


200 


RAMONA. 


Opening her door, the Senora walked slowly down 
the passage-way, unlocked Ramona’s door, and said : 
“ Ramona, be so good as to come to my room. 
Felipe and I have something to say to you.” 

Ramona followed, heavy-hearted. The words, 
“ Felipe and I,” boded no good. 

“ The Senora has made Felipe think just as she 
does herself,” thought Ramona. “ Oh, what will be- 
come of me ! ” and she stole a reproachful, implor- 
ing look at Felipe. He smiled back in a way which 
reassured her ; but the reassurance did not last 
long. 

“Senorita Ramona Ortegna,” began the Senora. 
Felipe shivered. He had had no conception that his 
mother could speak in that way. The words seemed 
to open a gulf between Ramona and all the rest of 
the world, so cold and distant they sounded, — as the 
Senora might speak to an intruding stranger. 

“ Senorita Ramona Ortegna,” she said, “ my son and 
I have been discussing what it is best for us to do in 
the mortifying and humiliating position in which you 
place us by your relation with the Indian Alessandro. 
Of course you know — or you ought to know — 
that it is utterly impossible for us to give our con- 
sent to your making such a marriage ; we should be 
false to a trust, and dishonor our own family name, if 
we did that.” 

Ramona’s eyes dilated, her cheeks paled; she 
opened her lips, but no sound came from them ; she 
looked toward Felipe, and seeing him with downcast 
eyes, and an expression of angry embarrassment on 
his face, despair seized her. Felipe had deserted their 
cause. Oh, where, where was Alessandro ! Clasping 
her hands, she uttered a low cry, — a cry that cut 
Felipe to the heart. He was finding out, in thus 
being witness of Ramona’s suffering, that she was far 
nearer and dearer to him than he" had realized. It 


RAMONA. 


201 


would have taken very little, at such moments as 
these, to have made Felipe her lover again; he felt 
now like springing to her side, folding his arms 
around her, and bidding his mother defiance. It took 
all the self-control he could gather, to remain silent, 
and trust to Ramona’s understanding him later. 

Ramona’s cry made no break in the smooth, icy 
flow of the Senora’s sentences. She gave no sign of 
having heard it, but continued : “ My son tells me 
that he thinks our forbidding it would make no dif- 
ference ; that you would go away with the man all 
the same. I suppose he is right in thinking so, as 
you yourself told me that even if Father Salvier- 
derra forbade it, you would disobey him. Of course, 
if this is your determination, we are powerless. Even 
if I were to put you in the keeping of the Church, 
which is what I am sure my sister, who adopted you 
as her child, would do, if she were alive, you would 
devise some means of escape, and thus bring a still 
greater and more public scandal on the family. Felipe 
thinks that it is not worth while to attempt to bring 
you to reason in that way ; and we shall therefore do 
nothing. I wished to impress it upon you that my 
son, as head of this house, and I, as my sister’s repre- 
sentative, consider you a member of our own family. 
So long as we have a home for ourselves, that home is 
yours, °as it always has been. If you choose to leave 
it, and to disgrace yourself and ris by marrying an 
Indian, we cannot help ourselves.” 

The Seiiora paused. Ramona did not speak. Her 
eyes were fixed on the Senora’s lace, as if she would 
penetrate to her inmost soul ; the girl was beginning 
to recognize the Senora’s true nature ; her instincts 
and her perceptions were sharpened by love. 

« Have you anything to say to me or to my son ? ” 
asked the Seiiora. 

“ No, Seiiora, ” replied Ramona ; “I do not think 


202 


RAMONA. 


of anything more to say than I said this morning. 
Yes,” she added, “there is. Perhaps I shall not 
speak with you again before I go away. I thank 
you once more for the home you have given me for 
so many years. And you too, Felipe,” she continued, 
turning towards Felipe, her face changing, all her 
pent-up affection and sorrow looking out of her tear- 
ful eyes, — “ you too, dear Felipe. You have always 
been so good to me. I shall always love you as long 
as I live ; ” and she held out both her hands to him. 
Felipe took them in his, and was about to speak, 
when the Senora interrupted him. She did not in- 
tend to have any more of this sort of affectionate 
familiarity between her son and Ramona. 

“ Are we to understand that you are taking your 
leave now ? ” she said. “ Is it your purpose to go at 
once ? ” 

“ I do not know, Senora,” stammered Ramona-; “ I 
have not seen Alessandro ; I have not heard — ” 
And she looked up in distress at Felipe, who answered 
compassionately, — 

“ Alessandro has gone.” 

“ Gone ! ” shrieked Ramona. “ Gone ! not gone 
Felipe ! ” 

“ Only for four days,” replied Felipe. “ To Temec- 
ula. I thought it would be better for him to be 
away for a day or two. He is to come back im- 
mediately. Perhaps he will be back day after to- 
morrow.” 

“ Did he want to go ? What did he go for ? Why 
did n t you let me go with him ? Oh, why, why did 
he go ? ” cried Ramona. « 

“ He went because my son told him to go,” broke 
in the Senora, impatient of this scene, and of the 
sympathy she saw struggling in Felipe’s expressive 
features. “My son thought, and rightly, that the 
sight of him would be more than I could bear just 


RAMONA. 


203 


now ; so he ordered him to go away, and Alessandro 
obeyed.” 

Like a wounded creature at bay, Kamona turned 
suddenly away from Felipe, and facing the Sehora, 
her eyes resolute and dauntless spite of the streaming 
tears, exclaimed, lifting her right hand as she spoke, 
“ You have been cruel ; God will punish you ! ” and 
without waiting to see what effect her words had pro- 
duced, without looking again at Felipe, she walked 
swiftly out of the room. 

“You see,” said the Senora, “you see she defies us.” 

“ She is desperate,” said Felipe. “ I am sorry I 
sent Alessandro away.” 

“ No, my son,” replied the Senora, “ you were wise, 
as you always are. It may bring her to her senses, 
to have a few days' reflection in solitude.” 

“You do not mean to keep her locked up, mother, 
do you ? ” cried Felipe. 

The Senora turned a look of apparently undis 
guised amazement on him. “ You would not think 
that best, would you ? Did you not say that all we 
could do, was simply not to interfere with her in any 
way ? To wash our hands, so far as is possible, of 
all responsibility about her ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the baffled Felipe ; “ that was what 
I said. But, mother — ” He stopped. He did not 
know what he wanted to say. 

The Senora looked tenderly at him, her face full of 
anxious inquiry. 

“ What is it, Felipe dear ? Is there anything more 
you think I ought to say or do ? ” she asked. 

“What is it you are going to . do, mother ?” said 
Felipe. “ I don’t seem to understand what you are 
going to do.” 

“ Nothing, Felipe ! You have entirely convinced 
me that all effort would be thrown away. I -shall do 
nothing,” replied the Senora. “ Nothing whatever.” 


204 


RAMONA. 


“ Then as long as Eamona is here, everything will 
be just as it always has been ? ” said Felipe. 

The Senora smiled sadly. “ Dear Felipe, do you 
think that possible ? A girl who has announced her 
determination to disobey not only you and me, but 
Father Salvierderra, who is going to bring disgrace 
both on the Moreno and the Ortegna name, — we 
can’t feel exactly the same towards her as we did be- 
fore, can we ? ” 

Felipe made an impatient gesture. “No, of course 
not. But I mean, is everything to be just the same, 
outwardly, as it was before ? ” 

“ I supposed so,” said the Senora. “ Was not that 
your idea ? We must try to have it so, I think. Do 
not you ? ” 

“ Yes,” groaned Felipe, “ if we can ! ” 


XIII. 



'HE Senora Moreno had never before been so 


JL discomfited as in this matter of Eamona and 
Alessandro. It chafed her to think over her conver- 
sation with Felipe ; to recall how far the thing she 
finally attained was from the thing she had in view 
when she began. To have Eamona sent to the con- 
vent, Alessandro kept as overseer of the place, and 
the Ortegna jewels turned into the treasury of the 
Church, — this was the plan she had determined on 
in her own mind. Instead of this, Alessandro was 
not to be overseer on the place ; Eamona would not 
go to the convent : she would be married to Ales- 
sandro, and they would go away together ; and the 
Ortegna jewels, — well, that was a thing to be decided 
in the future ; that should be left to Father Salvier- 
derra to decide. Bold as the Senora was, she had 
not quite the courage requisite to take that question 
wholly into her own hands. 

One thing was clear, Felipe must not be consulted 
in regard to them. He had never known of them, 
and need not now. Felipe was far too much in sym- 
pathy with Eamona to take a just view of the situa- 
tion. He would be sure to have a quixotic idea of 
Eamona’ s right of ownership. It was not impossible 
that Father Salvierderra might have the same feeling. 
If so, she must yield ; but that would go harder with 
her than all the rest. Almost the Senora would have 
been ready to keep the whole thing a secret from the 
Father, if he had not been at the time of the Senora 
Ortegna’s death fully informed of all the particulars 


206 


RAMONA. 


of her bequest to her adopted child. At any rate, it 
would be nearly a year before the Father came again, 
and in the mean time she would not risk writing 
about it. The treasure was as safe in Saint Catha- 
rine's keeping as it had been all these fourteen years ; 
it should still lie hidden there. When Eamona went 
away with Alessandro, she would write to Father 
Salvierderra, simply stating the facts in her own way, 
and telling him that all further questions must wait 
for decision until they met. 

And so she plotted and planned, and mapped out 
the future in her tireless weaving brain, till she 
was somewhat soothed for the partial failure of her 
plans. 

There is nothing so skilful in its own defence as im- 
perious pride. It has an ingenious system of its own, 
of reprisals, — a system so ingenious that the defeat 
must be sore indeed, after which it cannot still find 
some booty to bring off! And even greater than this 
ingenuity at reprisals is its capacity for self-decep- 
tion. In this regard, it outdoes vanity a thousand- 
fold. Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally 
hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises 
thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last ; 
and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in 
another, never admitting that there is a shade less 
honor in the second field than in the first, or in the 
third than in the second ; and so on till death. It is 
impossible not to have a certain sort of admiration 
for this kind of pride. Cruel, those who have it, are 
to all who come in their way ; but they are equally 
cruel to themselves, when pride demands the sacri- 
fice. Such pride as this has led many a forlorn hope, 
on the earth, when all other motives have died out of 
men’s breasts; has won many a crown, which has not 
been called by its true name. 

Before the afternoon was over, the Senora had her 


RAMONA. 


207 


plan, her chart of the future, as it were, all recon- 
structed ; the sting of her discomfiture soothed ; the 
placid quiet of her manner restored ; her habitual 
occupations also, and little ways, all resumed. She 
was going to do “nothing” in regard to Eamona. 
Only she herself knew how much that meant ; how 
bitterly much! She wished she were sure that Felipe 
also would do “nothing;” but her mind still misgave 
her about Felipe. Unpityingly she had led him on, 
and entangled him in his own words, step by step, 
till she had brought him to the position she wished 
him to take. Ostensibly, his position and hers were 
one, their action a unit ; all the same, she did not 
deceive herself as to his real feeling about the affair. 
He loved Eamona. He liked Alessandro. Barring 
the question of family pride, which he had hardly 
thought of till she suggested it, and which he would 
not dwell on apart from her continuing to press it, — 
barring this, he would have liked to have Alessandro 
marry Eamona and remain on the place. All this 
would come uppermost in Felipe’s mind again when 
he was removed from the pressure of her influence. 
Nevertheless, she did not intend to speak with him on 
the subject again, or to permit him to speak tor her. 
Her ends would be best attained by taking and keep- 
ing the ground that the question of their non-inter- 
ference having been settled once for all, the painful 
topic should never be renewed between them. In 
patient silence they must await Eamona’s action ; 
must bear whatever of disgrace and pain she chose 
to inflict on the family which had sheltered her from 
her infancy till now. 

The details of the “ nothing ” she proposed to do, 
slowly arranged themselves in her mind. There 
should be no apparent change in Eamona’s position 
in the house. She should come and go as freely as 
ever; no watch on her movements; she should eat, 


208 


RAMONA. 


sleep, rise up and sit down with them, as before; 
there should be not a word, or act, that Felipe’s 
sympathetic sensitiveness could construe into any 
provocation to Ramona to run away. Nevertheless, 
Ramona should be made to feel, every ipoment of 
every hour, that she was in disgrace ; that she was 
with them, but not of them ; that she had chosen an 
alien’s position, and must abide by it. How this was 
to be done, the Senora did not put in words to her- 
self, but she knew very well. If anything would 
bring the girl to her senses, this would. There might 
still be a hope, the Senora believed, so little did she 
know Ramona’s nature, or the depth of her affection 
for Alessandro, that she might be in this manner 
brought to see the enormity of the offence she would 
commit if she persisted in her purpose. And if she 
did perceive this, confess her wrong, and give up the 
marriage, — the Senora grew almost generous and 
tolerant in her thoughts as she contemplated this 
contingency, — if she did thus humble herself and 
return to her rightful allegiance to the Moreno house, 
the Senora would forgive her, and would do more for 
her than she had ever hitherto done. She would take 
her to Los Angeles and to Monterey ; would show her 
a little more of the world ; and it was by no means 
unlikely that there might thus come about for her a 
satisfactory and honorable marriage. Felipe should 
see that she was not disposed to deal unfairly by 
Ramona in any way, if Ramona herself would behave 
properly. 

Ramona’s surprise, when the Senora entered her 
room just before supper, and, in her ordinary tone, 
asked a question about the chili which was drying on 
the veranda, was so great, that she could not avoid 
showing it both in her voice and look. 

The Senora recognized this immediately, but gave 
no sign of having done so, continuing what she had 


RAMONA. 


209 


to say about the chili, the hot sun, the turning of the 
grapes, etc., precisely as she would have spoken to 
Ramona a week previous. At least, this was what 
Ramona at first thought; but before the sentences 
were finished, she had detected in the Senora’s eye and 
tone the weapons which were to be employed against 
her. The emotion of half-grateful wonder with which 
she had heard the first words changed quickly to 
heart-sick misery before they were concluded; and 
she said to herself : “ That ’s the way she is going to 
break me down, she thinks ! But she can’t do it. I 
can bear anything for four days ; and the minute 
Alessandro comes, I will go away with him.” This 
train of thought in Ramona’s mind was reflected in 
her face. The Senora saw it, and hardened herself 
still more. It was to be war, then. No hope of sur- 
render. Very well. The girl had made her choice. 

Margarita was now the most puzzled person in 
the household. She had overheard snatches of the 
conversation between Felipe and his mother and 
Ramona, having let her curiosity get so far the better 
of her discretion as to creep to the door and listen. 
In fact, she narrowly escaped being caught, having 
had barely time to begin her feint of sweeping the 
passage-way, when Ramona, flinging the door wide 
open, came out, after her final reply to the Senora, 
the words of which Margarita had distinctly heard : 
“ God will punish you.” 

“ Holy Virgin ! how dare she say that to the 
Senora ? ” ejaculated Margarita, under her breath ; 
and the next second Ramona rushed by, not even 
seeing her. But the Seiiora’s vigilant eyes, following 
Ramona, saw her ; and the Seiiora’s voice had a ring 
of suspicion in it, as she called, “ How comes it you 
are sweeping the passage-way at this hour of the day, 
Margarita ? ” 

It was surely the devil himself that put into Mar- 
14 


210 


RAMONA. 


garita’s head the quick lie which she instantaneously 
told. “ There was early breakfast, Senora, to be cooked 
for Alessandro, who was setting off in haste, and my 
mother was not up, so I had it to cook.” 

As Margarita said this, Felipe fixed his eyes steadily 
upon her. She changed color. Felipe knew this was 
a lie. He had seen Margarita peering about among 
the willows while he was talking with Alessandro at 
the sheepfold ; he had seen Alessandro halt for a 
moment and speak to her as he rode past, — only for 
a moment ; then, pricking his horse sharply, he had 
galloped off down the valley road. No .breakfast had 
Alessandro had at Margarita’s hands, or any other’s, 
that morning. What could have been Margarita’s 
motive for telling this lie ? 

But Felipe had too many serious cares on his mind 
to busy himself long with any thought of Margarita 
or her fibs. She had said the first thing which came 
into her head, most likely, to shelter herself from the 
Sen ora’s displeasure ; which was indeed very near the 
truth, only there was added a spice of malice against 
Alessandro. A slight undercurrent of jealous antago- 
nism towards him had begun to grow up among the 
servants of late ; fostered, if not originated, by Mar- 
garita’s sharp sayings as to his being admitted to 
such strange intimacy with the family. 

While Felipe continued ill, and was so soothed to 
rest by his music, there was no room for cavil. It 
was natural that Alessandro came and went as a 
physician might. But after Felipe had recovered, why 
should this freedom and intimacy continue ? More 
than once there had been sullen mutterings of this 
kind on the north veranda, when all the laborers and 
servants were gathered there of an evening, Alessan- 
dro alone being absent from the group, and the sounds 
of his voice or his violin coming from the south 
veranda, where the family sat. 


RAMONA. 


211 


“ It would be a good thing if we too had a bit of 
music now and then,” Juan Canito would grumble ; 
“ but the lad ’s chary enough of his bow on this side 
the house.” 

“ Ho ! we ’re not good enough for him to play to ! ” 
Margarita would reply ; “ ‘ Like master, like servant,’ 
is a good proverb sometimes, but not always. But 
there ’s a deal going on, on the veranda yonder, be- 
sides fiddling f ” and Margarita’s lips would purse 
themselves up in an expression of concentrated mys- 
tery and secret knowledge, well fitted to draw from 
everybody a fire of questions, none of which, how- 
ever, would she answer. She knew better than to 
slander the Seiiorita Bamona, or to say a word even 
reflecting upon her unfavorably. Hot a man or a 
woman there would have borne it. They all had 
loved Bamona ever since she came among them as a 
toddling baby. They petted her then, and idolized 
her now. Hot one of them whom -she had not done 
good offices for, — nursed them, cheered them, re- 
membered their birthdays and their saints’-days. To 
no one but her mother had Margarita unbosomed 
what she knew, and what she suspected ; and old 
Marda, frightened at the bare pronouncing of such 
words, had terrified Margarita into the solemnest of 
promises never, under any circumstances whatever, to 
say such things to any other member of the family. 
Marda did not believe them. She could not. She be- 
lieved that Margarita’s jealousy had imagined all. 

“ And the Senora ; she ’d send you packing off 
this place in an hour, and me too, long ’s I ’ve lived 
here, if ever she was to know of you blackening the 
Seiiorita. An Indian, too ! You must be mad, Mar- 
garita ! ” 

When Margarita, in triumph, had flown to tell her 
that the Sefiora had just dragged the Seiiorita Ba- 
mona up the garden-walk, and shoved her into her 


212 


RAMONA. 


room and locked the door, and that it was because 
she had caught her with Alessandro at the washing- 
stones, Marda first crossed herself in sheer mechanical 
fashion at the shock of the story, and then cuffed 
Margarita’s ears for telling her. 

“ I ’ll take the head off your neck, if you say that 
aloud again ! Whatever ’s come to the Senora ! Forty 
years I ’ve lived under this roof, and I never saw her 
lift a hand to a living creature yet. You ’re out of 
your senses, child ! ” she said, all the time gazing fear- 
fully towards the room. 

“ You ’ll see whether I am out of my senses or 
not,” retorted Margarita, and ran back to the dining- 
room. And after the dining-room door was shut, 
and the unhappy pretence of a supper had begun, old 
Marda had herself crept softly to the Senorita’s door 
and listened, and heard Eamona sobbing as if her 
heart would break. Then she knew that what Mar- 
garita had said must be true, and her faithful soul 
was in sore straits what to think. The Senorita mis- 
demean herself ! Never ! Whatever happened, it 
was not that ! There was some horrible mistake 
somewhere. Kneeling at the keyhole, she had called 
cautiously to Eamona, “ Oh, my lamb, what is it ? ” 
But Eamona had not heard her, and the danger was 
too great of remaining ; so scrambling up with diffi- 
culty from her rheumatic knees, the old woman had 
hobbled back to the kitchen as much in the dark 
as before, and, by a curiously illogical consequence, 
crosser than ever to her daughter. All the next day 
she watched for herself, and could not but see that 
all appearances bore out Margarita’s statements. 
Alessandro’s sudden departure had been a tremen- 
dous corroboration of the story. Not one of the men 
had had an inkling of it; Juan Canito, Luigo, both 
alike astonished ; no word left, no message sent ; 
only Seiior Felipe had said carelessly to Juan Can, 


RAMONA. 


213 


after breakfast : “You ’ll have to look after things 
yourself for a few days, Juan. Alessandro has gone 
to Temecula.” 

“For a few days!” exclaimed Margarita, sarcas- 
tically, when this was repeated to her. “ That ’s easy 
said ! If Alessandro Assis is seen here again, I ’ll eat 
my head ! He ’s played his last tune on the south 
veranda, I wager you.” 

But when at supper-time of this same eventful 
day the Senora was heard, as she passed the Seno- 
rita’s door, to say in her ordinary voice, “Are you 
ready for supper, Ramona ? ” and Ramona was seen 
to come out and walk by the Senora’s side to the 
dining-room ; silent, to be sure, — but then that was 
no strange thing, the Senorita always was more silent 
in the Senora’s presence, — when Marda, standing 
in the court-yard, feigning to be feeding her chickens, 
but keeping a close eye on the passage-ways, saw 
this, she was relieved, and thought : “ It ’s only a 
dispute there has been. There will be disputes in 
families sometimes. It is none of our affair. All 
is settled now.” 

And Margarita, standing in the dining-room, 
when she saw them all coming in as usual, — the 
Senora, Felipe, Ramona, — no change, even to her 
scrutinizing eye, in anybody’s face, was more sur- 
prised than she had been for many a day ; and began 
to think again, as she had more than once since 
this tragedy began, that she must have dreamed 
much that she remembered. 

But surfaces are deceitful, and eyes see little. 
Considering its complexity, the fineness and deli- 
cacy of its mechanism, the results attainable by the 
human eye seem far from adequate to the expendi- 
ture put upon it. We have flattered ourselves by 
inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blind- 
ness, — “ blind as a bat,” for instance. It would be 


214 


RAMONA. 


safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal 
kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its 
own range of circumstance and connection, as the 
greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms 
of their families. Tempers strain and recover, hearts 
break and heal, strength falters, fails, and comes near 
to giving way altogether, every day, without being 
noted by the closest lookers-on. 

Before night of this second day since the trouble 
had burst like a storm-cloud on the peaceful Moreno 
household, everything had so resumed the ordinary 
expression and routine, that a shrewder observer and 
reasoner than Margarita might well be excused for 
doubting if any serious disaster could have occurred to 
any one. Senor Felipe sauntered about in his usual 
fashion, smoking his cigarettes, or lay on his bed in 
the veranda, dozing. The Seriora went her usual 
rounds of inspection, fed her birds, spoke to every 
one in her usual tone, sat in her carved chair with 
her hands folded, gazing out on the southern sky. 
Ramona busied herself with her usual duties, dusted 
the chapel, put fresh flowers before all the Madonnas, 
and then sat down at her embroidery. Ramona had 
been for a long time at work on a beautiful altar- 
cloth for the chapel. It was to have been a present 
to the Seiiora. It was nearly done. As she held up 
the frame in which it was stretched, and looked at 
the delicate tracery of the pattern, she sighed. It 
had been with a mingled feeling of interest and hope- 
lessness that she had for months been at work on it, 
often saying to herself, “ She won’t care much for it, 
beautiful as it ’is, just because I did it ; but Father 
Salvierderra will be pleased when he sees it.” 

Now, as she wove the fine threads in and out, she 
thought : “ She will never let it be used on the altar. 
I wonder if I could any way get it to Father Salvier- 
derra, at Santa Barbara. I would like to give it to 


HAMONA . 


215 


him. I will ask Alessandro. I ’m sure the Senora 
would never use it, and it would be a shame to leave 
it here. I shall take it with me.” But as she thought 
these things, her face was unruffled. A strange com- 
posure had settled on Ramona. “ Only four days ; 
only four days ; I can bear anything for four days ! ” 
these words were coming and going in her mind like 
refrains of songs which haunt one’s memory and will 
not be still. She saw that Felipe looked anxiously 
at her, but she answered his inquiring looks always 
with a gentle smile. It was evident that the Senora 
did not intend that she and Felipe should have any 
private conversation; but that did not so much 
matter. After all, there was not so. much to be said. 
Felipe knew all. She could tell him nothing; Felipe 
had acted for the best, as he thought, in sending 
Alessandro away till the heat of the Sehora’s anger 
should have spent itself. 

After her first dismay at suddenly learning that 
Alessandro had gone, had passed, she had reflected 
that it was just as well. He would come back pre- 
pared to take her with him. How, or where, she did 
not know ; but she would go witli no question. 
Perhaps she would not even bid the Senora good-by ; 
she wondered how that would arrange itself, and 
how far Alessandro would have to take her, to 
find a priest to marry them. It was a terrible thing 
to have to do, to go out of a home in such a way : 
no wedding — no wedding clothes — no friends — to 
go unmarried, and journey to a priest’s house, to 
have the ceremony performed ; “ but it is not my fault,” 
said Ramona to herself ; " it is hers. She drives me 
to do it. If it is wrong, the blame will be hers. 
Father Salvierderra would gladly come here and marry 
us, if she would send for him. I wish we could go to 
him, Alessandro and I ; perhaps we can. I would not 
be afraid to ride so far ; we could do it in two days.” 


216 


RAMONA. 


The more Ramona thought of this, the more it ap- 
peared to her the natural thing for them to do. “ He 
will be on our side, I know he will,” she thought. 
“ He always liked Alessandro, and he loves me.” 

It was strange how little bitterness toward the 
Senora was in the girl’s mind ; how comparatively 
little she thought of her. Her heart was too full of 
Alessandro and of their future ; and it had never been 
Ramona’s habit to dwell on the Senora in her thoughts. 
As from her childhood up she had accepted the 
fact of the Senora’s coldness toward her, so now she 
accepted her injustice and opposition as part of the 
nature of things, and not to be altered. 

During all these hours, during the coming and 
going of these crowds of fears, sorrows, memories, 
anticipations in Ramona’s heart, all that there was 
to be seen to the eye was simply a calm, quiet girl, 
sitting on the veranda, diligently working at her lace- 
frame. Even Felipe was deceived by her calmness, 
and wondered what it meant, — if it could be that 
she was undergoing the change that his mother 
had thought possible, and designated as coming 
“to her senses.” Even Felipe did not know the 
steadfast fibre of the girl’s nature; neither did he 
realize what a bond had grown between her and Ales- 
sandro.. In fact, he sometimes wondered of what 
this bond had been made. He had himself seen the 
greater part of their intercourse with each other ; 
nothing could have been farther removed from any- 
thing like love-making. There had been no crises of 
incident, or marked moments of experience such as 
in Felipe’s imaginations of love were essential to the 
fulness of its growth. This is a common mistake on 
the part of those who have never felt love’s true bonds. 
Once in those chains, one perceives that they are not 
of the sort full forged in a day. They are made as 
the great iron cables are made, on which bridges are 


RAMONA. 


217 


swung across the widest water-channels, — not of sin- 
gle huge rods, or bars, which would be stronger, per- 
haps, to look at ; but of myriads of the finest wires, 
each one by itself so fine, so frail, it would barely 
hold a child’s kite in the wind : by hundreds, hun- 
dreds of thousands of such, twisted, re-twisted to- 
gether, are made the mighty cables, which do not any 
more swerve from their place in the air, under the 
weight and jar of the ceaseless traffic and tread sf 
two cities, than the solid earth swerves under the 
same ceaseless weight and jar. Such cables do not 
break. 

Even Eamona herself would have found it hard to 
tell why she thus loved Alessandro ; how it began, or 
by what it grew. It had not been a sudden adoration, 
like his passion for her ; it was, in the beginning, sim- 
ply a response; but now it was as strong a love as 
his, — as strong, and as unchangeable. The Senora’s 
harsh words had been like a forcing-house air to 
it, and the sudden knowledge of the fact of her 
own Indian descent seemed to her like a revelation, 
pointing out the path in which destiny called her to 
walk. She thrilled with pleasure at the thought of 
the joy with which Alessandro would hear this, — the 
joy and the surprise. She imagined to herself, in 
hundreds of ways, the time, place, and phrase in which 
she would tell him. She could not satisfy herself as 
to the best ; as to which would give keenest pleasure 
to him and to her. She would tell him, as soon as 
she saw him ; it should be her first word of greeting. 
No ! There would be too much of trouble and embar- 
rassment then. She would wait till they were far 
away, till they were alone, in the wilderness ; and 
then she would turn to him, and say, “ Alessandro, 
my people are your people ! ” Or she would wait, and 
keep her secret until she had reached Temecula, and 
they had begun their life there, and Alessandro had 


ilS 


RAMONA. 


been astonished to see how readily and kindly she took 
to all the ways of the Indian village ; and then, when 
he expressed some such emotion, she would quietly 
say, “ But I too am an Indian, Alessandro ! ” 

' Strange, sad bride’s dreams these ; but they made 
Ramona’s heart beat with happiness as she dreamed 
them. 


XIV. 


T HE first day had gone, it was near night of the 
second, and not a word had passed between Felipe 
and Ramona, except in the presence of the Senora. 
It would have been beautiful to see, if it had not been 
so cruel a thing, the various and devious methods by 
which the Senora had brought this about. Felipe, 
oddly enough, was more restive under it than Ramona. 
She had her dreams. He had nothing but his rest- 
less consciousness that he had not done for her what 
he hoped ; that he must seem to her to have been dis- 
loyal ; this, and a continual wonder what she could 
be planning or expecting which made her so placid, 
kept Felipe in a fever of unrest, of which his mother 
noted every sign, and redoubled her vigilance. 

Felipe thought perhaps he could speak to Ramona 
in the night, through her window. But the August 
heats were fierce now ; everybody slept with wide- 
open windows ; the Senora was always wakeful ; if she 
should chance to hear him thus v holding secret con- 
verse with Ramona, it would indeed make bad matters 
worse. Nevertheless, he decided to try it. At the 
first sound of his footsteps on the veranda floor, “My 
son, are you ill ? Can I do anything ? ” came from 
the Senora’s window. She had not been asleep at alL 
It would take more courage than Felipe possessed, 
to try that plan again; and he lay on his veranda 
bed, this afternoon, tossing about with sheer impa- 
tience at his baffled purpose. Ramona sat at the foot 
of the bed, taking the»last stitches in the nearly com- 
pleted altar-cloth. The Senora sat in her usual seat, 


220 


RAMONA. 


dozing, with her head thrown back. It was very hot ; 
a sultry south-wind, with dust from the desert, had 
been blowing all day, and every living creature was 
more or less prostrated by it. 

As the Senora’s eyes closed, a sudden thought struck 
Felipe. Taking out a memorandum-book in which he 
kept his accounts, he began rapidly writing. Look- 
ing up, and catching Eamona’s eye, he made . a sign 
to her that it was for her. She glanced apprehen- 
sively at the Senora. She was asleep. Presently 
Felipe, folding the note, and concealing it in his hand, 
rose, and walked towards Eamona’s window, Eamona 
terrifiedly watching him ; the sound of Felipe’s steps 
roused the Senora, who sat up instantly, and gazed 
about her with that indescribable expression pecul- 
iar to people who hope they have not been asleep, 
but know they have. “ Have I been asleep ? ” she 
asked. 

“About one minute, mother,” answered Felipe, who 
was leaning, as he spoke, against Eamona’s open 
window, his arms crossed behind him. Stretching 
them out, and back and forth a few times, yawning 
idly, he said, “ This heat is intolerable ! ” Then he 
sauntered leisurely down the veranda steps into the 
garden-walk, and seated himself on the bench under 
the trellis there. # 

The note had been thrown into Eamona’s room. 
She was hot and cold with fear lest she might not be 
able to get it unobserved. What if. the Senora were 
to go first into the room ! She hardly dared look at 
her. But fortune is not always on the side of tyrants. 
The Senora was fast dozing off again, relieved that 
Felipe was out of speaking distance of Eamona. As 
soon as her eyes were again shut, Eamona rose to go. 
The Senora opened her eyes. Eamona was crossing 
the threshold of the door; shfe was going into the 
house. Good ! Still farther away from Felipe. 


RAMONA. 221 

“ Are you going to your room, Ramona ? ” said the 
Senora. 

“ I was,” replied Ramona, alarmed. “ Did you want 
me here ? ” 

“ No,” said the Senora ; and she closed her eyes 
again. 

In a second more the note was safe in Ramona's 
hands. 

“ Dear Ramona,” Felipe had written, “ I am dis- 
tracted because I cannot speak with you alone. Can 
you think of any way ? I want to explain things to 
you. I am afraid you do not understand. Don’t be 
unhappy. Alessandro will surely be back in four 
days. I want to help you all I can, but you saw I 
could not do much. Nobody will hinder your doing 
what you please ; but, dear, I wish you would not go 
away from us ! ” 

Tearing the paper into small fragments, Ramona 
thrust them into her bosom, to be destroyed later. 
Then looking out of the window, and seeing that the 
Senora was now in a sound sleep, she ventured to write 
a reply to Felipe, though when she would find a safe 
opportunity to give it to him, there was no telling. 
"Thank you, dear Felipe. Don’t be anxious. I am 
not unhappy. I understand all about it. But I must 
go away as soon as Alessandro comes.” Hiding this 
also safe in her bosom, she went back to the veranda. 
Felipe rose, and walked toward the steps. Ramona, 
suddenly bold, stooped, and laid her note on the sec- 
ond step. Again the tired eyes of the Senora opened. 
They had not been shut five minutes ; Ramona was 
at her work ; Felipe was coming up the steps from 
the garden. He nodded laughingly to his mother, 
and laid his finger on his lips. All was well. The 
Senora dozed again. Her nap had cost her more than 
she would ever know. This one secret interchange 
between Felipe and Ramona then, thus making, as 


222 


RAMONA. 


it were, common cause with each other as against her, 
and in fear of her, was a step never to be recalled, — 
a step whose significance could scarcely be overesti- 
mated. Tyrants, great and small, are apt to overlook 
such possibilities as this ; to forget the momentousness 
which the most trivial incident may assume when 
forced into false proportions and relations. Tyranny 
can make liars and cheats out of the honestest souls. 
It is done oftener than any except close students of 
human nature realize. When kings and emperors do 
this, the world cries out with sympathy, and holds 
the plotters more innocent than the tyrant who pro- 
voked the plot. It is Russia that stands branded in 
men’s thoughts, and not Siberia. 

The Sehora had a Siberia of her own, and it was 
there that Ramona was living in these days. The 
Seiiora would have been surprised to know how little 
the girl felt the cold. To be sure, it was not as if 
she had ever felt warmth in the Seiiora’ s presence ; 
yet between the former chill and this were many 
degrees, and except for her new life, and new love, 
and hope in the thought of Alessandro, Ramona could 
not have borne it for a day. 

The fourth day came ; it seemed strangely longer 
than the others had. All day Ramona watched and 
listened. Felipe, too ; for, knowing what Alessandro’s 
impatience would be, he had, in truth, looked for him 
on the previous night. The horse he rode was a fleet 
one, arid would have made the journey with ease in 
half the time. But Felipe reflected that there might 
be many things for Alessandro to arrange at Temec- 
ula. He would doubtless return prepared to take 
Ramona back with him, in case that proved the only 
alternative left them. Felipe grew wretched as his 
fancy dwelt on the picture of Ramona’s future. He 
had been in the Temecula village. He knew its 
poverty ; the thought of Ramona there was monstrous. 


RAMONA. 


223 


To the indolent, ease-loving Felipe it was incredible 
that a girl reared as Eamona had been, could for a 
moment contemplate leading the life of a poor labor- 
ing man’s wife, lie could not conceive of love’s mak- 
ing one undertake any such life. Felipe had much 
to learn of love. Night came ; no Alessandro. Till 
the darkness settled down, Eamona sat* watching the 
willows. When she could no longer see, she listened. 
The Senora, noting all, also listened. She was uneasy 
as to the next stage of affairs, but she would not 
speak. Nothing should induce her to' swerve from 
the line of conduct on which she had determined. It 
was the full of the moon. When the first broad beam 
of its light came over the hill, and flooded the garden 
and the white front of the little chapel, just as it had 
done on that first night when Alessandro watched 
with Felipe on the veranda, Eamona pressed her face 
against the window-panes, and gazed out into the 
garden. At eacli flickering motion of the shadows 
she saw the form of a man approaching. Again and 
again she saw it. Again and again the breeze died, 
and the shadow ceased. It was near morning before, 
weary, sad, she crept to bed ; but not to sleep. With 
wide-open, anxious eyes, she still watched and listened. 
Never had the thought once crossed her mind that 
Alessandro might not come at the time Felipe had 
said. In her childlike simplicity she had accepted 
this as unquestioningly as she had accepted other facts 
in her life. Now that he did not come, unreasoning 
and unfounded terror took possession of her, and she 
asked herself continually, “ Will he ever come ! They 
sent him away ; perhaps he wfill be too proud to come 
back ! ” Then faith would return, and saying to her- 
self, “ He would never, never forsake me ; he knows 
I have no one in the whole world but him ; he knows 
how I love him,” she would regain composure, and 
remind herself of the many detentions which might 


224 


RAMONA. 


have prevented his coming at the time set. Spite of all, 
however, she was heavy at heart ; and at breakfast her 
anxious eyes and absent look were sad to see. They 
hurt Felipe. Too well he knew what it meant. He 
also was anxious. The Senora saw it in his face, and 
it vexed her. The girl might well pine, and be mor- 
tified if her lover did not appear. But why should 
Felipe 'disquiet himself? The Senora disliked it. It 
was a bad symptom. There might be trouble ahead 
yet. There was, indeed, trouble ahead, — of a sort the 
Senora’s imaginings had not pictured. 

Another day passed ; another night ; another, and 
another. One week now since Alessandro, as he 
leaped on his horse, had grasped Felipe’s hand, and 
said : “You will tell the Sehorita ; you will make 
sure that she understands why I go ; and in four days 
I will be back.” One week, and he had not come. 
The three who were watching and wondering looked 
covertly into each other’s faces, each longing to know 
what the others thought. 

Ramona was wan and haggard. She had scarcely 
slept. The idea had taken possession of her that 
Alessandro was dead. On the sixth and seventh days 
she had walked each afternoon far down the river 
road, by which he would be sure to come ; down the 
meadows, and by the cross-cut, out to the highway ; 
at each step straining her tearful eyes into the dis- 
tance, — the cruel, blank, silent distance. She had 
come back after dark, whiter and more wan than she 
went out. As she sat at the supper-table, silent, 
making no feint of eating, only drinking glass after 
glass of milk, in thirsty haste, even Margarita pitied 
her. But the Senora did not. She thought the best 
thing which could happen, would be that the Indian 
should never come back. Ramona would recover 
from it in a little while ; the mortification would be 
the worst thing, but even that, time would heal. She 


RAMONA. 


225 


wondered that the girl had not more pride than to let 
her wretchedness be so plainly seen. She herself 
would have died before she would go about with such 
a woe-begone face, for a whole household to see and 
gossip about. 

On the morning of the eighth day, Eamona, desper- 
ate, waylaid Felipe, as he was going down the veranda 
steps. The Senora was in the garden, and saw them ; 
but Eamona did not care. “ Felipe ! ” she cried, “ I 
must, I must speak to you ! Do you think Alessandro 
is dead ? What else could keep him from coming ? ” 
Her lips were dry, her cheeks scarlet, her voice husky. 
A few more days of this, and she would be in a brain 
fever, Felipe thought, as he looked compassionately 
at her. 

* Oh, no, no, dear ! Do not think that ! ” he replied. 
“ A thousand things might have kept him.” 

“ Ten thousand things would not ! Nothing could ! ” 
said Eamona. “ I know he is dead. Can’t you send 
a messenger, Felipe, and see ? ” 

The Senora was walking toward them. She over- 
heard the last words. 'Looking toward Felipe, no 
more regarding Eamona than if she had not been 
within sight or hearing, the Senora said, “ It . seems 
to me that would not be quite consistent with dignity. 
How does it strike you, Felipe? If you thought best, 
we might spare a man as soon as the vintage is done, 
I suppose.” 

Eamona walked away. The vintage would not be 
over for a week. There were several vineyards yet 
which had not been touched ; every hand on the 
place was hard at work, picking the grapes, treading 
them out in tubs, emptying the juice into stretched 
raw-hides swung from cross-beams in a long shed. 
In the willow copse the brandy-still was in full 
blast ; it took one man to watch it ; this was Juan 
Can’s favorite work ; for reasons of his own he liked 
15 


226 


RAMONA. 


best to do it alone ; and now that he could no longer 
tread grapes in the tubs, he had a better chance 
for ♦uninterrupted work at the still. “No ill but 
has 5*s good,” he thought sometimes, as he lay com- 
fortably stretched out in the shade, smoking his pipe 
day after day, and breathing the fumes of the fiery 
brandy. 

As Ramona disappeared in the doorway, the Senora, 
coming close to Felipe, and laying her hand on his arm, 
said in a confidential tone, nodding her head in the 
direction in which Ramona had vanished : “ She looks 
badly, Felipe. I don’t know what we can do. We 
surely cannot send to summon back a lover we do 
not wish her to marry, can we ? It is very perplex- 
ing. Most unfortunate, every way. What do you 
think, my son ? ” There was almost a diabolical art 
in the manner in which the Senora could, by a single 
phrase or question, plant in a person’s mind the pre- 
cise idea she wished him to think he had originated 
himself. 

“ No ; of course we can’t send for him,” replied 
Felipe, angrily ; “ unless it is to send for him to 
marry her ; I wish he had never set foot on the place. 

I am sure I don’t know what to do. Ramona’s looks 
frighten me. I believe she will die.” 

“ I cannot wish Alessandro had never set foot on 
the place,” said the Senora, gently, “ for I feel that I 
owe your life to him, my Felipe ; and he is not to 
blame for Ramona’s conduct. You need not fear her 
dying. She may be ill ; but people do not die of love 
like hers for Alessandro.” 

“Of what kind do they die, mother ? ” asked Felipe, * 
impatiently. 

The Sefiora looked reproachfully at him. “ Not 
often of any,” she said ; “ but certainly not of a sud- 
den passion for a person in every way beneath them, 
in position, in education, in all points which are 


RAMONA. 


227 


essential to congeniality of tastes or association of 
life” 

The Senora spoke calmly, with no excitement, as 
if she were discussing an abstract case. Sometimes, 
when she spdke like this, Felipe for the moment felt 
as if she were entirely right, as if it were really a 
disgraceful thing in Ramona to have thus loved Ales- 
sandro. It could not be gainsaid that there was this 
gulf of which she spoke. Alessandro was undeniably 
Ramona’s inferior in position, education, in all the 
external matters of life ; but in nature, in true nobil- 
ity of soul, no ! Alessandro was no man’s inferior in 
these; and in capacity to love, — Felipe sometimes 
wondered whether he had ever known Alessandro’s 
equal in that. This thought had occurred to him 
more than once, as from his sick-bed he had, unob- 
served, studied the expression with which Alessandro 
gazed at Ramona. But all this made no difference in 
the perplexity of the present dilemma, in the embar- 
rassment of his and his mother’s position now. ^Sfcnd 
a messenger to ask why Alessandro did not return ! 
Hot even if he had been an accepted and publicly 
recognized lover, would Felipe do that ! Ramona 
ought to have more pride. She ought of herself to 
know that. And when Felipe, later in the day, saw 
Ramona again, he said as much to her. He said it 
as gently as he could; so gently that she did not 
at first comprehend his idea. It was so foreign, so 
incompatible with her faith, how could she ? 

When she did understand, she said slowly: “You 
mean that it will not do to send to find out if Ales- 
sandro is dead, because it will look as if I wished him 
to marry me whether he wished it or not ? ” and she 
fixed her eyes on Felipe’s, with an expression he 
could not fathom. 

“Yes, dear,” he answered, “something like that, 
though you put it harshly.” - 


228 


RAMONA. 


“ Is it not true,” she persisted, “ that is what you 
mean ? ” 

Reluctantly Felipe admitted that it was. 

Ramona was silent for some moments ; then she 
said, speaking still more slowly, “ If you feel like that, 
we had better never talk about Alessandro again. I 
suppose it is not possible that you should know, as 
I do, that nothing but his being dead would keep him 
from coming back. Thanks, dear Felipe;” and after 
this she did not speak again of Alessandro. 

Days went by ; a week. The vintage was over. 
The Senora wondered if Ramona would now ask 
again for a messenger to go to Temecula. Almost 
even the Senora relented, as she looked into the girl’s 
white and wasted face, as she sat silent, her hands 
folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the willows. The 
altar-cloth was done, folded and laid away. It would 
never hang in the Moreno chapel. It was promised, 
in Ramona’s mind, to Father Salvierderra. She had 
resolved to go to him ; if he, a feeble old man, could 
walk all the way between Sauta Barbara and their 
home, she could surely do the same. She would not 
lose the way. There were not many roads ; she could 
ask. The convent, the bare thought of which had 
been so terrible to Ramona fourteen days ago, when 
the Senora had threatened her with it, now seemed a 
heavenly refuge, the only shelter she craved. There 
was a school for orphans attached to the convent at 
San Juan Bautista, she knew ; she would ask the 
Father to let her go there, and she would spend the 
rest of her life in prayer, and in teaching the orphan 
girls. As hour after hour she sat revolving this plan, 
her fancy projected itself so vividly into the future, 
that she lived years of her life. She felt herself mid- 
dle-aged, old. She saw the procession of nuns, going 
to vespers, leading the children by the hand ; herself 
wrinkled and white-haired, walking between two of 


RAMONA . 


229 


the little ones. The picture gave her peace. As 
soon as she grew a little stronger, she would set off 
on her journey to the Father ; she could not go just 
yet, she was too weak ; her feet trembled if she did 
but walk to the foot of the garden. Alessandro was 
dead ; there could be no doubt of that. He was 
buried in that little walled graveyard of which he 
had told her. Sometimes she thought she would try 
to go there and see his grave, perhaps see his father ; 
if Alessandro had told him of her, the old man would 
be glad to see her .; perhaps, after all, her work might 
lie there, among Alessandro’s people. But this looked 
hard ; she had not courage for it ; shelter and rest 
were what she wanted, — the sound of the Church’s 
prayers, and the Father’s blessing every day. The 
convent was the best. 

She thought she was sure that Alessandro was dead ; 
but she was not, for she still listened, still watched. 
Each day she walked out on the river road, and sat 
waiting till dusk. At last came a day when she could 
not go ; her strength failed her. She lay all day on 
her bed. To the Senora, who asked frigidly if she 
were ill, she answered* “No, Senora, I do not think 
I am ill. I have no pain, but I cannot get up. I 
shall be better to-morrow.” 

“ I will send you strong broth and a medicine,” the 
Senora said ; and sent her both by the hands of Mar- 
garita, whose hatred and jealousy broke down at the 
first sight of Bamona’s face on the pillow ; it looked 
so much thinner and sharper there than it had when 
she was sitting up. “ Oh, Seiiorita ! Senorita ! ” she 
cried, in a tone of poignant grief, “ are you going to 
die ? Forgive me, forgive me ! ” 

" I have nothing to forgive you, Margarita,” replied 
Bamona, raising herself on her elbow, and lifting her 
eyes kindly to the girl’s face as she took the broth 
from her hands. “ I do not know why you ask me 
to forgive you.” 


230 


RAMONA. 


Margarita flung herself on her knees by the bed, 
in a passion of weeping. “ Oh, *but you do know, 
Senorita, you do know ! Forgive me !” 

“No, I know nothing,” replied Eamona ; “ but if 
you know anything, it is all forgiven. I am not go- 
ing to die, Margarita. I am going away,” she added, 
after a second’s pause. Her inmost instinct told her 
that she could trust Margarita now. Alessandro be- 
ing dead, Margarita w^uld no longer be her enemy, 
and Margarita could perhaps help her. “ I am going 
away, Margarita, as soon as I feel a little stronger. 
I am going to a convent ; but the Senora does not 
know. You will not tell ? ” 

“ No, Senorita ! ” whispered Margarita, — thinking 
in her heart, “ Yes, she is going away, but it will be 
with the angels.” — “ No, Sefiorita, I will not tell. I 
will do anything you want me to.” 

“Thanks, Margarita mia,” replied Eamona. “I 
thought you would;” and she lay back on her pillow, 
and closed her eyes, looking so much more like death 
than like life that Margarita’s tears flowed faster 
than before, and she ran to her mother, sobbing out, 
“ Mother, mother ! the Senorita is ill to death. I 
am sure she is. She has taken to her bed ; and she 
is as white as Senor Felipe was at the worst of the 
fever.” 

“Ay,” said old Marda, who had seen all this for 
days back ; “ ay, she has wasted away, this last week, 
like one in a fever, sure enough ; I have seen it. It 
must be she is starving herself to death.” 

“ Indeed, she has not eaten for ten days, — hardly 
since that day ; ” and Margarita and her mother ex- 
changed looks. It was not necessary to further define 
the day. 

“ Juan Can says he thinks he will never be seen 
here again,” continued Margarita. 

“ The saints grant it, then,” said Marda, hotly, “ if 


RAMONA. 231 

it is lie has cost the Seiiorita all this ! I am that 
turned about in my head with it all, that I’ve no 
thoughts to think ; but plain enough it is, he is mixed 
up with whatever ’t is has gone wrong.” 

“ I could tell what it is,” said Margarita, her old 
pertness coming.uppermost for a moment ; “ but I ’ve 
got no more to say, now the Senorita’s lying on her 
bed, with the face she ’s got. It ’s enough to break 
your heart to look at her. I could just go down on 
my knees to her for all I ’ve said ; and 1 will, and 
to Saint Francis too ! She ’s going to be with him 
before long ; I know she is.” 

“No,” said the wiser, older Marda. “She is not 
so ill as you think. She is young. It ’s the heart ’s 
gone out of her ; that ’s all. I ’ve been that way my- 
self. People are, when th^&’re young.” 

“ I ’m young ! ” retorted Margarita. “ I ’ve never 
been that way.” 

“ There ’s many a mile to the end of the road, my 
girl,” said Marda, significantly ; “ and * It ’s ill boast- 
ing the first day out,’ was a .proverb when I was your 
age !” 

Marda had never been much more than half-way 
fond of this own child of hers. Their natures were 
antagonistic. Traits which, in Margarita’s father, 
had embittered many a day of Marda’s early married 
life, were perpetually cropping out in Margarita, 
making between the mother and daughter a barrier 
which even parental love was not always strong 
enough to surmount.^ And, as was inevitable, this 
antagonism was constantly leading to things which 
seemed to Margarita, and in fact were, unjust and ill- 
founded. 

“ She ’s always flinging out at me, whatever I do,” 
thought Margarita. “ I know one tiling ; I ’ll never 
tell her what the Seiiorita ’s told me ; never, — not 
till after she ’s gone.” 


232 


RAMONA. 


A sudden suspicion flashed into Margarita’s mind. 
She seated herself on the bench outside the kitchen 
door, to wrestle with it. What if it were not to a 
convent at all, but to Alessandro, that the Seiiorita 
meant to go ! No ; that was preposterous. If it 
had been that, she would have gone with him in the 
outset. Nobody who was plotting to run away with a 
lover ever wore such a look as the Seiiorita wore now. 
Margarita dismissed the thought ; yet it left its trace. 
She would be more observant for having had it ; her 
resuscitated affection for her young mistress was not 
yet so strong that it would resist the assaults of 
jealousy, if that passion were to be again aroused in 
her fiery soul. Though she had never been deeply 
in love with Alessandro herself, she had been enough 
so, and she remembered him vividly enough, to feel 
yet a sharp emotion of displeasure at the recollec- 
tion of his devotion to the Senorita. Now that the 
Seiiorita seemed to be deserted, unhappy, prostrated, 
she had no room for anything but pity for her ; 
but let Alessandro come on the stage again, and 
all would be changed. The old hostility would re- 
turn. It was but a dubious sort of ally, after 
all, that Bamona had so unexpectedly secured in 
Margarita. She might prove the sharpest of broken 
reeds. 

It was sunset of the eighteenth day since Alessan- 
dro’s departure. Bamona had lain for four days well- 
nigh motionless on her bed. She herself began to 
think she must be going to die. Her mind seemed 
to be vacant of all thought. She did not even sorrow 
for Alessandro’s death ; she seemed torpid, body and 
soul. Such prostrations as these are Nature’s en- 
forced rests. It is often only by help of them that 
our bodies tide over crises, strains, in which, if we 
continued to battle, we should be slain. 

As Bamona lay half unconscious, — neither awake 


RAMONA. 


233 


nor yet asleep, — on this evening, she was suddenly 
aware of a vivid impression produced upon her ; it 
was not sound, it was not sight. She was alone ; 
the house was still as death ; the warm September 
twilight silence reigned . outside. She sat up in her 
bed, intent — half alarmed — half glad — bewildered 
— alive. What had happened ? Still there was no 
sound, no stir. The twilight was fast deepening; 
not a breath of air moving. Gradually her bewil- 
dered senses and faculties awoke from their long- 
dormant condition ; she looked around the room ; 
even the walls seemed revivified ; she clasped her 
hands, and leaped from the bed. “ Alessandro is not 
dead ! ” she said aloud ; and she laughed hysterically. 
“ He is not dead ! ” she repeated. “ He is not dead ! 
He is somewhere near ! ” 

With quivering hands she dressed, and stole out of 
the house. After the first few seconds she found her- 
self strangely strong ; she did not tremble ; her feet 
trod firm on the ground. “ Oh, miracle!” she thought, 
as she hastened down the garden-walk ; “ I am well 
again ! Alessandro is near ! ” So vivid was the im- 
pression, that when she reached the willows and 
found the spot silent, vacant, as when she had last 
sat there, hopeless, broken-hearted, she experienced a 
revulsion of disappointment. “ Not here ! ” she cried ; 
“ not here !•” and a swift fear shook her. “ Am I 
mad ? Is it this way, perhaps, people lose their 
senses, when they are as I have been ! ” 

But the young, strong blood was running swift in 
her veins. No ! this was no madness ; rather a 
newly discovered power; a fulness of sense; a reve- 
lation. Alessandro was near. 

Swiftly she walked down the river road. The 
farther she went, the keener grew her expectation, 
her sense of Alessandro’s nearness. In her present 
mood she would have walked on and on, even to 


234 


RAMONA. 


Temecula itself, sure that she was at each step draw* 
ing nearer to Alessandro. As she approached the 
second willow copse, which lay perhaps a quarter of 
a mile west of the first, she saw the figure of a man, 
standing, leaning against one of the trees. She halted. 
It could not be Alessandro. He would not have 
paused for a moment so near the house where he was 
to find her. She was afraid to go on. It was late 
to meet a stranger in this lonely spot. The figure was 
strangely still; so still that, as she peered through 
the dusk, she half fancied it might be an optical 
illusion. She advanced a few steps, hesitatingly, 
then stopped. As she did so, the man advanced a lew 
steps, then stopped. As he came out from the shad- 
ows of the trees, she saw that he was of Alessandro’s 
height. She quickened her steps, then suddenly 
stopped again. What did this mean ? It could not 
be Alessandro. Ramona wrung her hands in agony 
of suspense. An almost unconquerable instinct urged 
her forward ; but terror held her back. After stand- 
ing irresolute for some minutes, she turned to walk 
back to the house, saying, “ I must not run the risk 
of its being a stranger. If it is Alessandro, he will 
come.” 

But her feet seemed to refuse to move in the 
opposite direction. Slower and slower she walked 
for a few paces, then turned again. The man had 
returned to his former place, and stood as at first, 
leaning against the tree. 

“ It may be a messenger from him,” she said ; “ a 
messenger who has been told not to come- to the 
house until after dark.” 

Her mind was made up. She quickened her pace 
to a run. A few moments more brought her so near 
that she could see distinctly. It was — yes, it was 
Alessandro. He did not see her. His face was turned 
partially away, his head resting against the tree ; he 


RAMONA. 


235 


must be ill. Ramona flew, rather than ran. In a 
moment more, Alessandro had heard the light steps, 
turned, saw Ramona, and, with a cry, bounded for- 
ward, and they were clasped in each other’s arms 
before they had looked in each other’s faces. Ra- 
mona spoke first. Disengaging herself gently, and 
looking up, she began : “ Alessandro — ” But at 
the first sight of his face she shrieked. Was this 
Alessandro, this haggard, emaciated, speechless man, 
who gazed at her with hollow eyes, full of misery, 
and no joy ! “ O God,” cried Ramona, " you have 

been ill ! you are ill ! My God, Alessandro, what 
is it?” 

Alessandro passed his hand slowly over his fore- 
head, as if trying to collect his thoughts before speak- 
ing, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Ramona, 
with the same anguished look, convulsively holding 
both her hands in his. 

“ Senorita,” he said, “ my Senorita ! ” Then he 
stopped. His tongue seemed to refuse him utter- 
ance ; and this voice, — this strange, hard, unresonant 
voice, — » whose voice was it ? Hot Alessandro’s. 

“ My Senorita,” he began again, “ I could not go 
without one sight of your face ; but when I was here, 
I had not courage to go near the house. If you had 
not come, I should have gone back without seeing 
you.” 

Ramona heard these words in fast-deepening terror. 
What did they mean ? Her look seemed to suggest 
a new thought to Alessandro. 

“ Heavens, Senorita ! ” he cried, “ have you not 
heard ? Do you not know what has happened ? ” 

“ I know nothing, love,” answered Ramona. “ I 
have heard nothing since you went away. For ten 
days I have been sure you were dead ; but to-night 
something told me that you were near, and I came to 
meet you.” 


236 


RAMONA. 


At the first words of Ramona’s sentence, Alessan- 
dro threw his arms around her again. As she said 
“love,” his whole frame shook with emotion. 

“ My Senorita ! ” he whispered, “ my Senorita ! how 
shall I tell you ! How shall I tell you ! ” 

“ What is there to tell, Alessandro ? ” she said. 
“ I am afraid of nothing, now that you are here, and 
not dead, as I thought.” 

But Alessandro did not speak. It seemed impos- 
sible. At last, straining her closer to his breast, he 
cried : “ Dearest Senorita ! I feel as if I should die 
when I tell you, — I have no home; my father is 
dead ; my people are driven out of their village. I 
am only a beggar now, Senorita ; like those you used 
to feed and pity in Los Angeles convent ! ” As he 
spoke the last words, he reeled, and, supporting him- 
self against the tree, added : “ I am not strong, 
Senorita ; we have been starving.” 

Ramona’s face did not reassure him. Even in the 
dusk he could see its look of incredulous horror. He 
misread it. 

“ I only came to look at you once more,” he con- 
tinued. “ I will go now. May the saints bless you, 
my Senorita, always. I think the Virgin sent you to 
me to-night. I Should never have seen your face if 
you had not come.” 

While he was speaking, Ramona had buried her 
face in his bosom. Lifting it now, she said, “Did 
you mean to leave me to think you were dead, Ales- 
sandro ? ” 

“ I thought that the news about our village must 
have reached you,” he said, “ and that you would 
know I had no home, and could not come, to seem to 
remind you of what you had said. Oh, Senorita, it was 
little enough I had before to give you ! I don’t know 
how I dared to believe that you could come to be 
with me ; but I loved you so much, I had thought of 


RAMONA. 


237 


many things I could do ; and — ” lowering his voice 
and speaking almost sullenly — “it is the saints, I 
believe, who have punished me thus for having re- 
solved to leave my people, and take all I had for my- 
self and you. Now they have left me nothing ; ” and 
he groaned. 

“Who?” cried Ramona. “Was there a battle? 
Was your father killed ? ” She was trembling with 
horror. 

“No,” answered Alessandro. “There was no bat- 
tle. There would have been, if I had had my way ; 
but my father implored me not to resist. He said it 
would only make it worse for us in the end. The 
sheriff, too, he begged me to let it all go on peaceably, 
and help him keep the people quiet. He felt terribly 
to have to do it. It was Mr. Rothsaker, from San 
Diego. We had often worked for him on his ranch. 
He knew all about us. Don’t you recollect, Sehorita, 
I told you about him, — how fair he always was, and 
kind too ? He has the biggest wheat-ranch in Cajon ; 
we Ve harvested miles and miles of wheat for him. 
He said he would have rather died, almost, than have 
had it to do ; but if we resisted, he would have to 
order his men to shoot. H£ had twenty men with him. 
They thought there would be trouble ; and well they 
might, — turning a whole village full of men and 
women and children out of their houses, and driving 
them off like foxes. If it had been any man but Mr. 
Rothsaker, I would have shot him dead, if I had 
hung for it ; but I knew if he thought we must go, 
there was no help for us.” 

“ But, Alessandro,” interrupted Ramona, “ I can’t 
understand. Who was it made Mr. Rothsaker do it ? 
Who has the land now ? ” 

“ I don’t know who they are,” Alessandro replied, 
his voice full of anger and scorn. “ They ’re Ameri- 
cans, — eight or ten of them. They all got together 


238 


RAMONA . 


and brought a suit, they call it, up in San Francisco ; 
and it was decided in the court that they owned all 
our land. That was all Mr. Rothsaker could tell 
about it. It was the law, he said, and nobody could 
go against the law.” 

“ Oh,” said Ramona, “ that ’s the way the Ameri- 
cans took so much of the Senora’s land away from 
her. It was in the court up in San Francisco; 
and they decided that miles and miles of her land, 
which the General had always had, was not hers 
at all. They said it belonged to the United States 
Government.” 

“ They are a pack of thieves and liars, every one 
of them ! ” cried Alessandro. “ They are going to 
steal all the land in this country ; we might all just 
as well throw ourselves into the sea, and let them 
have it. My father has been telling me this for 
years. He saw it coming ; but I did not believe 
him. I did not think men could be so wicked ; but 
he was right. I am glad he is dead. That is the 
only thing I have to be thankful for now. One day 
I thought he was going to get well, and I prayed to 
the Virgin not to let him. I did not want him to 
live. He never knew anything clear after they took 
him out of his house. That was before I got there. 
I found him sitting on the ground outside. They 
said it was the sun that had turned him crazy ; but 
it was not. It was his heart breaking in his bosom. 
He would not come out of his house, and the men 
lifted him up and carried him out by force, and threw 
him on the ground ; and then they threw out all the 
furniture we had ; and when he saw them doing that, 
he put his hands up to his head, and called out, 
‘ Alessandro ! Alessandro ! ’ and I was not there ! 
Senorita, they said it was a voice to make the dead 
hear, that he called with ; and nobody could stop 
him. All that day and all the night he kept on 


RAMONA. 


239 


calling. God ! Senorita, I wonder I did not die when 
they told me ! When I got there, some one had 
built up a little booth of tule over his head, to keep 
the sun off. He did not call any more, only for 
water, water, That was what made them think the 
sun had done it. They did all they could ; but it 
was such a dreadful time, nobody could do much ; 
the sheriff’s men were in great hurry ; they gave no 
time. They said the people must all be off in two 
days. Everybody was running hither and thither. 
Everything out of the houses in piles on the ground. 
The people took all the roofs off their houses too. 
They were made of the tule reeds ; so they would do 
again. Oh, Senorita, don’t ask me to tell you any 
more ! It is like death. I can’t ! ” 

Ramona was crying bitterly. She did not know 
what to say. What was love, in face of such calam- 
ity ? What had she to give to a man stricken like 
this ? 

“ Don’t weep, Senorita/’ said Alessandro, drearily. 
“ Tears kill one, and do no good.” 

“ How long did your father live ? ” asked Ramona, 
clasping her arms closer around his neck. They were 
sitting on the ground now, and Ramona, yearning 
over Alessandro, as if she were the strong one and he 
the one to be sheltered, had drawn his head to her 
bosom, caressing him as if he had been hers for years. 
Nothing could have so clearly shown his enfeebled 
and benumbed condition, as the manner in which 
he received these caresses, which once would have 
made him beside himself with joy. He leaned against 
her breast as a child might. 

“ He 1 He died only four days ago. I stayed to 
bury him, and then I came away. I have been three 
days on the way; the horse, poor beast, is almost 
weaker than I. The Americans took my horse,” 
Alessandro said. 


240 


RAMONA. 


\ 


“ Took your horse ! ” cried Ramona, aghast. " Is 
that the law, too ? ” 

“ So Mr. Rothsaker told me. He said the judge had 
said he must take enough of our cattle and horses to 
pay all it had cost for the suit up in San Francisco. 
They did n’t reckon the cattle at what they were worth, 
I thought ; but they said cattle were selling very low 
now. There were not enough in all the village to 
pay it, so we had to make it up in horses ; and they 
took mine. I was not there the day they drove the 
cattle away, or I would have put a ball into Benito’s 
head before any American should ever have had him 
to ride. But I was over in Pachanga with my father. 
He would not stir a step for anybody hut me ; so I 
led him all the way ; and then after he got there he 
was so ill I never left him a minute. He did not 
know me any more, nor know anything that had 
happened. I built a little hut of tule, and he lay 
on the ground till he died. When I put him in his 
grave, I was glad.” 

“ In Temecula ? ” asked Ramona. 

“ In Temecula ! ” exclaimed Alessandro, fiercely. 
“You don’t seem to understand, Senorita. We have 
no right in Temecula, not even to our graveyard full 
of the dead. Mr. Rothsaker warned us all not to be 
hanging about there ; for he said the men who were 
coming in were a rough set, and they would shoot 
any Indian at sight, if they saw him trespassing on 
their property.” 

.“ Their property ! ” ejaculated Ramona. 

“Yes; it is theirs,” said Alessandro, doggedly. 
“ That is the law. They ’ve got all the papers to 
show it. That is what my father always said, — if 
the Sen or Valdez had only given him a paper ! But 
they never did in those days. Nobody had papers. 
The American law is different.” 

" It ’s a law of thieves ! ” cried Ramona. 


RAMONA. 


241 


"Yes, and of murderers too,” said Alessandro. 
“Don’t you call my father murdered just as much as 
if they had shot him ? I do ! And, 0 Senorita, my 
Senorita, there was Jose ! You recollect Jos4, who 
went for my violin ? But, my beloved one, I am 
killing you with these terrible things ! I will speak 
no more.” 

“ No, no, Alessandro. Tell me all, all. You must 
have no grief I do not share. Tell me about Jose,” 
cried Ramona, breathlessly. 

" Senorita, it will break your heart to hear. Jos4 
was married a year ago. He had the best house in 
Temecula, next to my father’s. It was the only other 
one that had a shingled roof. And he had a barn 
too, and that splendid horse he rode, and oxen, and 
a flock of sheep. He was at home when the sheriff 
came. A great many of the men were away, grape- 
picking. That made it worse. But Jose was at 
home ; for his wife had a little baby only a few 
weeks old, and the child seemed sickly and not like 
to live, and Jose would not leave it. Jos6 was the 
first one that saw the sheriff riding into the village, 
and the band of armed men behind him, and Josd 
knew what it meant. He had often talked it over 
with me and with my father, and now he saw that it 
had come ; and he went crazy in one minute, and fell 
on the ground all froth at his mouth. He had had a 
fit like that once before ; and the doctor said if he 
had another, he would die. But he did not. They 
picked him up, and presently he was better; and 
Mr. Rothsaker said nobody worked so well in the 
moving the first day as Jos6 did. Most of the 
men would not lift a hand. They sat on the ground 
with the women, and covered up their faces, and 
would not see. But Jos6 worked ; and, Senorita, one 
of the first things he did, was to run with my father’s 
violin to the store, to Mrs. Hartsel, and ask her tr 
16 


242 


RAMONA. 


hide it for us ; Josd knew it was worth money. But 
before noon the. second day he had another fit, and 
died in it, — died right in his own door, carrying out 
some of the things ; and after Carmena — that ’s his 
wife’s name — saw he was dead, she never spoke, but 
sat rocking back and forth on the ground, with the 
baby in her arms. She went over to Pachanga at 
the same time I did with my father. It was a long 
procession of us.” 

“ Where is Pachanga ? ” asked Ramona. 

« About three miles from Temecula, a little sort of 
canon. I told the people they’d better move over 
there ; the land did not belong to anybody, and per- 
haps they could make a living there. There is n’t any 
water ; that ’s the worst of it.” 

“No water ! ” cried Ramona. 

“No running water. There is one little spring, 
and they dug a well by it as soon as they got there ; 
so there was water to drink, but that is all. I saw 
Carmena could hardly keep up, and I carried the 
baby for her on one arm, while I led my father 
with the other hand ; but the baby cried, so she 
took it back. I thought then it would n’t live the 
day out ; but it did live till the morning of the day 
my father died. Just a few hours before he died, 
Carmena came along with the baby rolled up in her 
shawl, and sat down by me on the ground, and did 
not speak. When I said, ‘ How is the little one ? ’ 
she opened her shawl and showed it to me, dead. 
‘ Good, Carmena ! ’ said I. ‘ It is good ! My father 
is dying too. We will bury them together.’ So she 
sat by me all that morning, and at night she helped 
me dig the graves. I wanted to put the baby on 
my father’s breast ; but she said, no, it must have a 
little grave. So she dug it herself ; and we put 
them in ; and she never spoke, except that once. She 
was sitting there by the grave when I came away. 


RAMONA. 


243 


I made a cross of two little trees with the boughs 
chopped off, and set it up by the graves. So that is 
the way our new graveyard was begun, — my father 
and the little baby ; it is the very young and the 
very old that have the blessed fortune to die. I 
cannot die, it seems ! ” 

“Where did they bury Jose ? ” gasped Ramona. 

“ In Temecula,” said Alessandro. “ Mr. Rothsaker 
made two of his men dig a grave in our old graveyard 
for Jose. But I think Carmena will go at night and 
bring his body away. I would ! But, my Senorita, 
it is very dark, I can hardly see your beloved eyes. 
I think you must not stay longer. Can I go as far as 
the brook with you, safely, without being seen ? The 
saints bless you, beloved, for coming. I could not 
have lived, I think, without one more sight of your 
face;” and, springing to his feet, Alessandro stood 
waiting for Ramona to move. She remained still. 
She was in a sore strait. Her heart held but one 
impulse, one desire, — to go with Alessandro ; noth- 
ing was apparently farther from his thoughts than 
this. Could she offer to go ? Should she risk laying 
a burden on him greater than he could bear ? If he 
were indeed a beggar, as he said, would his life be 
hindered or helped by her ? She felt herself strong 
and able. Work had no terrors for her; privations 
she knew nothing of, but she felt no fear of them. 

“ Alessandro ! ” she said, in a tone which startled 
him. 

“ My Senorita ! ” he said tenderly. 

“ You have never once called me Ramona/* 

“ I cannot, Senorita ! ” he replied. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ I do not know. I sometimes think 1 Ramona/ ” he 
added faintly ; “ but not often. If I think of you by 
any other name than as my Senorita, it is usually by 
a name you never heard.” 


244 


RAMONA. 


“ Wliat is it? ” exclaimed Ramona, wonderingly. 

“ An Indian word, my dearest one, the name of the 
bird you are like, — the wood-dove. In the Luiseno 
tongue that is Majel; that was what I thought my 
people would have called you, if you had come to 
dwell among us. It is a beautiful name, Senorita, and 
is like you.” 

Alessandro was still standing. Ramona rose ; com- 
ing close to him, she laid both her 1 lands on his breast, 
and her head on her hands, and said : “ Alessandro, 
I have something to tell you. I am an Indian. I 
belong to your people.” 

Alessandro’s silence astonished her. “ You are sur- 
prised,” she said. “ I thought you would be glad.” 

“ The gladness of it came to me long ago, my 
Senorita,” he said. “ I knew it ! ” 

“ How ?"” cried Ramona. “ And you never told me, 
Alessandro ! ” 

“ How could I ?” he replied. “ I dared not. Juan 
Canito, it was, told me.” 

“Juan Canito!” said Ramona, musingly. “How 
could he have known ? ” Then in a few rapid words 
she told Alessandro all that the Seiiora had told her. 
“ Is that what Juan Can said ? ” she asked. 

“All except the father’s name,” stammered Ales- 
sandro. 

“ Who did he say was my father ? ” she asked. 

Alessandro was silent. 

“It matters not,” said Ramona. “ He was wrong. 
The Seiiora, of course, knew. He was a friend of hers, 
and of the Seiiora Ortegna, to whom he gave me. But 
I think, Alessandro, I have more of my mother than 
of my father.” 

“ Yes, you have, my Senorita,” replied Alessandro, 
tenderly. “After I knew it, I then saw what it was 
in your face had always seemed to me like the faces 
of my own people.” 


RAMONA. 


245 


“ Are you not glad, Alessandro ? ” 

“ Yes, my Senorita.” 

What more should Ramona say ? Suddenly her 
heart gave way ; and without premeditation, without 
resolve, almost without consciousness of what she 
was doing, she flung herself on Alessandro’s breast, 
and cried : “ Oh, Alessandro, take me with you ! 
take me with you ! I would rather die than have 
you leave me again ! ” 


XV. 


LESSANDRO’S first answer to this cry of Ra- 



mona’s was a tightening of his arms around 
her ; closer and closer he held her, till it was almost 
pain ; she could hear the throbs of his heart, but he 
did not speak. Then, letting his arms fall, taking her 
hand in his, he laid it on his forehead reverently, and 
said, in a voice which was so husky and trembling 
she could barely understand his words : “ My Seno- 
rita knows that my life is hers. She can ask me to go 
into the lire or into the sea, and neither the fire nor 
the sea would frighten me ; they would but make me 
glad for her sake. But I cannot take my Senorita’s 
life to throw it away. She is tender ; she would die ; 
she cannot lie on the earth for a bed, and have no 
food to eat. My Senorita does not know what she 


says. 


His solemn tone ; this third-person designation, as 
if he were speaking of her, not with her, almost as 
if he were thinking aloud to God rather than speak- 
ing to her, merely calmed and strengthened, did not 
deter Ramona. “ I am strong ; I can work too, Ales- 
sandro. You do not know. We can both w T ork. I 
am not afraid to lie on the earth ; and God will give 
us food,” she said. 

“ That was what I thought, my Seiiorita, until now. 
When I rode away that morning, I had it in my 
thoughts, as you say, that if you"were not afraid, I 
would not be ; and that there would at least always 
be food, and I could make it that you should never 
suffer ; but, Senorita, the saints are displeased. They 


RAMONA. 


247 


do not pray for us any more. It is as my father said, 
they have forsaken us. These Americans will destroy 
us all. I do not know but they will presently begin 
to shoot us and poison us, to get us all out of the 
country, as they do the rabbits and the gophers ; it 
would not be any worse than what they have done. 
Would not you rather be dead, Senorita, than be as I 
am to-day ? ” 

Each word he spoke but intensified Ramona’s 
determination to share his lot. “Alessandro,” she 
interrupted, “ there are many men among your people 
who have wives, are there not ? ” 

“ Yes, Senorita ! ” replied Alessandro, wonderingly. 

“ Have their wfives left them and gone away, now 
that this trouble has come ? ” 

“ Ho, Senorita ! ” still more wonderingly ; “ how 
could they ? ” 

“They are going to stay with them, help them 
to earn money, try to make them happier, are they 
not ? ” 

“ Yes, Senorita.” Alessandro began to see whith- 
er these questions tended. It was not unlike the 
Sen ora’s tactics, the way in which Ramona narrowed 
in her lines of interrogation. 

“Do the women of your people love their hus- 
bands very much ? ” 

“Very much, Senorita.” A pause. It was very 
dark now. Alessandro could not see the hot currents 
running swift and red over Ramona’s face ; even her 
neck changed color as she asked her last question. 
“ Do you think any one of them loves her husband 
more than I love you, Alessandro ? ” 

Alessandro’s arms were again around her, before 
the words were done. Were not such words enough 
to make a dead man live ? Almost ; but not enough 
to make such a love as Alessandro’s selfish. Ales- 
sandro was silent. 


248 


RAMONA . 


“ You know there is not one ! ” said Eamona, im- 
petuously. 

“ Oh, it is too much ! ” cried Alessandro, throwing 
his arms up wildly. Then, drawing her to him again, 
he said, the words pouring out breathless : “ My Seno- 
rita, you take me to the door of heaven, but I dare 
not go in. I know it would kill you, Seiiorita, to live 
the life we must live. Let me go, dearest Senorita ; 
let me go ! It had been better if you had never 
seen me.” 

“ Do you know what I was going to do, Alessan- 
dro, if you had not come ? ” said Eamona. “ I was 
going to run away from the Senora’s house, all alone, 
and walk all the way to Santa Barbara, to Father 
Salvierderra, and ask him to put me in the convent 
at San Juan Bautista ; and that is what I will do now 
if you leave me ! ” 

“ Oh, no, no, Senorita, my Senorita, you will 
not do that ! My beautiful Senorita in the convent ! 
No, no !” cried Alessandro, greatly agitated. 

“Yes, if you do not let me come with you, I shall 
do it. I shall set out to-morrow.” 

Her words carried conviction to Alessandro’s soul. 
He knew she would do as he said. “ Even that would 
not be so dreadful as to be hunted like a wild beast, 
Senorita ; as you may be, if you come with me.” 

“ When I thought you were dead, Alessandro, I did 
not think the convent would he dreadful at all. I 
thought it would he peace ; and I could do good, 
teaching the children. But if I knew you were alive, 
I could never have peace ; not for one minute have 
peace, Alessandro ! I would rather die, than not he 
where you are. Oh, Alessandro, take me with you ! ” 

Alessandro was conquered. “ I will take you, 
my most beloved Senorita,” he said gravely, — no 
lover’s gladness in his tone, and his voice was hol- 
low ; “ I will take you. Perhaps the saints will have 


RAMONA. 


249 


mercy on you, even if they have forsaken me and my 
people ! ” 

“ Your people are my people, dearest ; and the saints 
never forsake any one who does not forsake them. 
You will be glad all our lives long, Alessandro,” cried 
Ramona ; and she laid her head on his breast in 
solemn silence for a moment, as if registering a vow. 

_ Well might Felipe have said that he would hold 
himself fortunate if any woman ever loved him as 
Ramona loved Alessandro. 

When she lifted her head, she said timidly, now 
that she was sure, “Then you will take your Ra- 
mona with you, Alessandro ? ” 

“ I will take you with me till I die ; and may the 
Madonna guard you, my Ramona,” replied Alessan- 
dro, clasping her to his breast, and bowing his head 
upon hers. But there were tears in his eyes, and 
they were not tears of joy ; and in his heart he said, 
as in his rapturous delight when he first saw Ramona 
bending over the brook under the willows he had 
said aloud, “ My God ! what shall I do ! ” 

It was not easy to decide on the best plan of pro- 
cedure now. Alessandro wished to go boldly to the 
house, see Senor Felipe, and if need be the Senora. 
Ramona quivered with terror at the bare mention of 
it. “You do not know the Senora, Alessandro,” she 
cried, “ or you would never think of it. She has been 
terrible all this time. She hates me so that she would 
kill me if she dared. She pretends that she will do 
nothing to prevent my going away ; but I believe at 
the last minute she would throw me in the well in 
the court-yard, rather than have me go with you.” 

“ I would never let her harm you,” said Alessandro. 
“Neither would Senor Felipe.” 

“ She turns Felipe round her finger as if he were 
soft wax,” answered Ramona. “ She makes him of a 
hundred minds in a minute, and he can’t help him- 


250 


RAMONA. 


self. Oh, I think she is in league with the fiends, 
Alessandro ! Don’t dare to come near the house ; I 
will come here as soon as every one is asleep. We 
must go at once.” 

Eamona’s terrors overruled Alessandro’s judgment, 
and he consented to wait for her at the spot where 
they now stood. She turned back twice to embrace 
him again. “ Oh, my Alessandro, promise me that you 
will not stir from this place till I come,” she said. 

“ I will be here when you come,” he said. 

“ It will not be more than two hours,” she said, “ or 
three, at the utmost. It must be nine o’clock now.” 

She did not observe that Alessandro had evaded 
the promise not to leave the spot. That promise Ales- 
sandro would not have given. He had something to 
do in preparation for this unexpected flight of Eamona. 
In her innocence, her absorption in her thoughts of 
Alessandro and of love, she had never seemed to con- 
sider how she would make this long journey. As 
Alessandro had ridden towards Temecula, eighteen 
days ago, he had pictured himself riding back on his 
fleet, strong Benito, and bringing Antonio’s matchless 
little dun mare for Eamona to ride. Only eighteen 
short days ago ; and as he was dreaming that very 
dream, he had looked up and seen Antonio on the little 
dun mare, galloping towards him like the wind, the 
overridden creature’s breath coming from her like pants 
of a steam-engine, and her sides dripping blood, where 
Antonio, who loved her, had not spared the cruel spurs ; 
and Antonio, seeing him, had uttered a cry, and fling- 
ing himself off, came with a bound to his side, and with 
gasps between his words told him. Alessandro could 
not remember the words, only that after them he set 
his teeth, and dropping the bridle, laid his head down 
between Benito’s ears, and whispered to him ; and 
Benito never stopped, but galloped on all that day, till 
he came into Temecula ; and there Alessandro saw the 


RAMONA. 


251 


roofless houses, and the wagons being loaded, and the 
people running about, the women and children wail- 
ing ; and then they showed him the place where his 
father lay on the ground, under the tule, and jump- 
ing off Benito he let him go, and that was the last he 
ever saw of him. Only eighteen days ago ! And 
now here he was, under the willows, — the same copse 
where he first halted, at his first sight of Ramona ; 
and it was night, dark night, and Ramona had been 
there, in his arms ; she was his ; and she was coming 
back presently to go away with him, — where ! He 
had no home in the wide world to which to take her, 
— and this poor beast he had ridden from Temecula, 
had it strength enough left to carry her ? Alessandro 
doubted. He had himself walked more than half the 
distance, to spare the creature, and yet there had been 
good pasture all the way ; but the animal had been 
too long starved to recover quickly. In the Pachanga 
canon, where they had found refuge, the grass was 
burned up by the sun, and the few horses taken over 
there had suffered wretchedly ; some had died. But 
Alessandro, even while his arms were around Ramona, 
had revolved in his mind a project he would not have 
dared to confide to her. If Baba, Ramona’s own horse, 
was still in the corral, Alessandro could without diffi- 
culty lure him out. He thought it would be no sin. 
At any rate, if it were, it could not be avoided. The 
Senorita must have a horse, and Baba had always 
been her own ; had followed her about like a dog ever 
since he could run ; in fact, the only taming he had 
ever had, had been done by Ramona, with bread and 
honey. He was intractable to others; but Ramona 
could guide him by a wisp of his silky mane. Ales- 
sandro also had nearly as complete control over him ; 
for it had been one of his greatest pleasures, during 
the summer, when he could not see Ramona, to caress 
and fondle her horse, till Baba knew and loved him 


252 


RAMONA. 


next to his young mistress. If only Baba were in 
the corral, all would be well. As soon as the sound 
of Kamona’s footsteps had died away, Alessandro fol- 
lowed with quick but stealthy steps ; keeping well 
down in the bottom, below the willows, he skirted the 
terrace where the artichoke-patch and the sheepfolds 
lay, and then turned up to approach the corral from 
the farther side. There was no light in any of the 
herdsmen’s huts. They were all asleep. That was 
good. Well Alessandro knew how sound they slept ; 
many a night while he slept there with them he had 
walked twice over their bodies as they lay stretched on 
skins on the floor, — out and in without rousing them. 
If only Baba would not give a loud whinny. Leaning 
on the corral- fence, Alessandro gave a low, hardly au- 
dible whistle. The horses were all in a group together 
at the farther end of the corral. At the sound there 
was a slight movement in the group ; and one of them 
turned and came a pace or two toward Alessandro. 

“ I believe that is Baba himself,” thought Alessan- 
dro; and he made another low sound. The horse 
quickened his steps ; then halted, as if he suspected 
some mischief. 

“ Baba,” whispered Alessandro. The horse knew his 
name as well as any dog ; knew Alessandro’s voice too ; 
but the sagacious creature seemed instinctively to know 
that here was an occasion for secrecy and caution. 
If Alessandro whispered, he, Baba, would whisper 
back ; and it was little more than a whispered whinny 
which he gave, as he trotted quickly to the fence, 
and put his nose to Alessandro’s face, rubbing and 
kissing and giving soft whinnying sighs. 

“ Hush ! hush ! Baba,” whispered Alessandro, as if 
he were speaking to a human being. “ Hush ! ” and 
he proceeded cautiously to lift off the upper rails and 
bushes of the fence. The horse understood instantly ; 
and as soon as the fence was a little lowered, leaped 


RAMONA. 


253 


over it and stood still by Alessandro’s side, while he 
replaced the rails, smiling to himself, spite of his 
grave anxiety, to think of Juan Can’s wonder in the 
morning as to how Baba had managed to get out of 
the corral. 

This had taken only a few moments. It was bet- 
ter luck than Alessandro had hoped for ; emboldened 
by it, he began to wonder if he could not get the sad- 
dle too. The saddles, harnesses, bridles, and all such 
things hung on pegs in an open barn, such as is con- 
stantly to be seen in Southern California ; as signifi- 
cant a testimony, in matter of climate, as any Signal 
Service Beport could be, — a floor and a roof ; no walls, 
only corner posts to hold the roof.’ Nothing but sum- 
mer-houses on a large scale are the South California 
barns. Alessandro stood musing. The longer he 
thought, the greater grew his desire for that saddle. 

“ Baba, if only you knew what I wanted of you, 
you ’d lie down on the ground here and wait while I 
got the saddle. But I dare not risk leaving you. 
Come, Baba ! ” and he struck down the hill again, the 
horse following him softly. When he got down be- 
low the terrace, he broke into a run, with his hand 
in Baba’s mane, as if it were a frolic ; and in a few 
moments they were safe in the willow copse, where 
Alessandro’s poor pony was tethered. Fastening 
Baba with the same lariat, Alessandro patted him on 
the neck, pressed his face to his nose, and said aloud, 
“ Good Baba, stay here till the Senorita comes.” 
Baba whinnied. 

“ Why should n’t he know the Senorita’s name ! I 
believe he does ! ” thought Alessandro, as he turned 
and again ran swiftly back to the corral. He felt 
strong now, — felt like a new man. Spite of all the 
terror, joy thrilled him. When he reached the corral, 
all was yet still. The horses had not moved from their 
former position. Throwing himself flat on the ground. 


254 


RAMONA. 


Alessandro crept on his breast from the corral to the 
barn, several rods’ distance. This was the most haz- 
ardous part of his adventure; every other moment 
he paused, lay motionless for some seconds, then crept 
a few paces more. As he neared the corner where 
Ramona’s saddle always hung, his heart beat. Some- 
times, of a warm night, Luigo slept on the bam 
floor. If he were there to-night, all was lost,. Grop- 
ing in the darkness, Alessandro pulled himself up on 
the post, felt for the saddle, found it, lifted it, and 
in a trice was flat on the ground again, drawing the 
saddle along after him. Not a sound had he made, 
that the most watchful of sheep-dogs could hear. 

“ Ha, old Capitan, caught you napping this time ! ” 
said Alessandro to himself, as at last he got safe to 
the bottom of the terrace, and, springing to his feet, 
bounded away with the saddle on his shoulders. It 
was a weight for a starving man to carry, but he 
felt it not, for the rejoicing he had in its possession. 
Now his Senorita would go in comfort. To ride Baba 
was to be rocked in a cradle. If need be, Baba would 
carry them both, and never know it; and it might 
come to that, Alessandro thought, as he knelt by the 
side of his poor beast, which was stretched out on the 
ground exhausted ; Baba standing by, looking down 
in scornful wonder at this strange new associate. 

“ The saints be praised ! ” thought Alessandro, as he 
seated himself to wait. “ This looks as if they would 
not desert my Senorita.” 

Thoughts whirled in his brain. Where should they 
go first ? What would be best ? Would they be 
pursued ? Where could they hide ? Where should he 
seek a new home ? 

It was bootless thinking, until Ramona was by his 
side. He must lay each plan before her. She must 
decide. The first thing was to get to San Diego, to 
the priest, to be married. That would be three days* 


RAMONA . 


255 


hard ride ; five for the exhausted Indian pony. What 
should they eat on the way ? Ah ! Alessandro be- 
thought him of the violin at Hartsel’s. Mr. Hartsel 
would give him money on that; perhaps buy it. 
Then Alessandro remembered his own violin. He 
had not once thought of it before. It lay in its case 
on a table in Senor Felipe’s room when he came away. 
Was it possible? No, of course it could not be 
possible that the Senorita would think to bring it. 
What would she bring ? She would be wise, Ales- 
sandro was sure. 

How long the hours seemed as he sat thus plotting 
and conjecturing ; more and more thankful, as each 
hour went by, to see the sky still clouded, the dark- 
ness dense. “It must have been the saints, too, 
that brought me on a night when there was no 
moon,” he thought ; and then he said again, devout 
and simple-minded man that he was, “ They mean 
to protect my Senorita ; they will let me take care 
of her.” 

Ramona was threading a perilous way, through 
great difficulties. She had reached her room unob- 
served, so far as she could judge. Luckily for her, 
Margarita was in bed with a terrible toothache, for 
which her mother had given her a strong sleeping- 
draught. Margarita was disposed of. If she had not 
been, Ramona would never have got away, for Mar- 
garita would have known that she had been out of 
the house for two hours, and would have watched to 
see what it meant. 

Ramona came in through the court-yard ; she 
dared not go by the veranda, sure that Felipe and his 
mother were sitting there still, for it was not late. 

As she entered her room, she heard them talking. 
She closed one of her windows, to let them know she 
was there. Then she knelt at the Madonna’s feet, 
and in an inaudible whisper told her all she was 


256 


RAMONA. 


going to do, and prayed that she would watch over her 
and Alessandro, and show them where to go. 

“ I know she will ! I am sure she will ! ” whispered 
Ramona to herself as she rose from her knees. 

Then she threw herself on her bed, to wait till the 
Senora and Felipe should be asleep. Her brain was 
alert, clear. She knew exactly what she wished to 
do. She had thought that all out, more than two 
weeks ago, when she was looking for Alessandro hour 
by hour. 

Early in the summer Alessandro had given to her, 
as curiosities, two of the large nets which the Indian 
women use for carrying all sorts of burdens. They 
are woven out of the fibres of a flax-like plant, and 
are strong as iron. The meshes being large, they are 
very light ; are gathered at each end, and fastened to 
a band which goes around the forehead. In these 
can be carried on the back, with comparative ease, 
heavier loads than could be lifted in any other way. 
Until Ramona recollected these, she had been per- 
plexed to know how she should carry the things 
which she had made up her mind it would be right 
for her to take, — only a few ; simply necessaries ; one 
stuff gown and her shawls ; the new altar-cloth, and 
two changes of clothes ; that would not be a great 
deal ; she had a right to so much, she thought, now 
that she had seen the jewels in the Senora’s keeping. 
“I will tell Father Salvierderra exactly what I took,” 
she thought, “ and ask him if it was too much.” She 
did not like to think that all these clothes she must take 
had been paid for with the Senora Moreno’s money. 

And Alessandro’s violin. Whatever else she left, 
that must go. What would life be to Alessandro 
without a violin ! And if they went to Los Angeles, 
he might earn money by playing at dances. Already 
Ramona had devised several ways by which they 
could both earn money. 


RAMONA. 


257 


There must be also food for the journey. And it 
must be good food, too ; wine for Alessandro. An- 
guish filled her heart as she recalled how gaunt he 
looked. “ Starving,” he said they had been. Good 
God ! Starving ! And she had sat down each day at 
loaded tables, and seen, each day, good food thrown to 
the dogs to eat. 

It was long before the Seriora went to her room ; 
and long after that before Felipe’s breathing had be- 
come so deep and regular that Ramona dared feel sure 
that he was asleep. At last she ventured out. All 
was dark ; it was past midnight. 

“ The violin first ! ” she said ; and creeping into the 
dining-room, and through the inner door to Felipe’s 
room, she brought it out, rolled it in shawl after 
shawl, and put it in the net with her clothes. Then 
she stole out, with this net on her back, “ like a true 
Indian woman as I am,” she said, almost gayly, to 
herself, — through the court-yard, around the south- 
east corner of the house, past the garden, down to the 
willows, where she laid down her load, and went back 
for the second. 

This was harder. Wine she was resolved to have, 
and bread and cold meat. She did not know so well 
where to put her hand on old Marda’s possessions as 
on her own, and she dared not strike a light. She 
made several journeys to the kitchen and pantry be- 
fore she had completed her store. Wine, luckily, she 
found in the dining-room, — two full bottles; also 
milk, which she poured into a leathern flask which 
hung on the wall in the veranda. 

Now all was ready. She leaned from her window, 
and listened to Felipe’s breathing. “ How can I go 
without bidding him good-by ? ” she said. “ How 
can I ? ” and she stood irresolute. 

“ Dear Felipe ! Dear Felipe ! He has always been 
so good to me ! He has done all he could for me ! 

17 


258 


RAMONA. 


I wish I dared kiss him. I will leave a note for 
him.” 

Taking a pencil and paper, and a tiny wax taper, 
whose light would hardly be seen across a room, 
she slipped once more into the dining-room, knelt on 
the floor behind the door, lighted her taper, and 
wrote : — 

“ Dear Felipe, — Alessandro has come, and I am go- 
ing away with him to-night. Don’t let anything be done 
to us, if you can help it. I don’t know where we are 
going. I hope, to Father Salvierderra. I shall love you 
always. Thank yo'U, dear Felipe, for all your kindness. 

“ Kamona.” 

It had not taken a moment. She blew out her 
taper, and crept back into her room. Felipe’s bed 
was now moved close to the wall of the house. 
From her window she could reach its foot. Slowly, 
cautiously, she stretched out her arm and dropped 
the little paper on the coverlet, just over Felipe’s 
feet. There was a risk that the Senora would come 
out in the morning, before Felipe awaked, and seethe 
note first ; but that risk she would take. 

“ Farewell, dear Felipe ! ” she whispered, under her 
breath, as she turned from the window. 

The delay had cost her dear. The watchful Capi- 
tan, from his bed at the upper end of the court, had 
half heard, half scented something strange going on. 
As Ramona stepped out, he gave one short, quick 
bark, and came bounding down. 

“ Holy Virgin, I am lost ! ” thought Ramona ; but, 
crouching on the ground, she quickly opened her net, 
and as Capitan came towards her, gave him a piece of 
meat, fondling and caressing him. While he ate it, 
wagging his tail, and making great demonstrations of 
joy, she picked up her load again, and still fondling 
him-, said, " Come on, Capitan ! ” It was her last 


RAMONA. 


259 


chance. If he harked again, somebody would be 
waked ; if he went by her side quietly, she might 
escape. A cold sweat of terror burst on her forehead 
as she took her first step cautiously. The dog fol- 
lowed. She quickened her pace ; he trotted along, 
still smelling the meat in the net. When she reached 
the willows, she halted, debating whether she should 
give him a large piece of meat, and try to run away 
while he was eating it, or whether she should let him 
go quietly along. She decided on the latter course ; 
and, picking up her other net, walked on. She was 
safe now. She turned, and looked back towards the 
house ; all was dark and still. She could hardly see 
its outline. A great wave of emotion swept over 
her. It was the only home she had ever known. 
All she had experienced of happiness, as well as of 
bitter pain, had been there, — Felipe, Father Salvier- 
derra, the servants, the birds, the garden, the dear 
chapel ! Ah, if she could have once more prayed in 
the chapel ! Who would put fresh flowers and ferns 
in the chapel now ? How Felipe would miss her, 
when he knelt before the altar ! For fourteen years 
she had knelt by his side. And the Seiiora, — the 
hard, cold Seiiora ! She would alone be glad. Every- 
body else would be sorry. “ They will all be sorry I 
have gone, — all but the Seiiora ! I wish it had been 
so that I could have hidden them all good-by, and had 
them all bid me good-by, and wish us good fortune ! ” 
thought the gentle, loving girl, as she drew a long 
sigh, and, turning her back on her home, went for- 
ward in the path she had chosen. 

She stooped and patted Capitan on the head. “ Will 
you come with me, Capitan ? ” she said ; and Capitan 
leaped up joyfully, giving two or three short, sharp 
notes of delight. “ Good Capitan, come ! They will 
not miss him out of so many,” she thought, “ and it 
will always seem like something from home, as long 
as I have Capitan.” 


260 


RAMONA. 


When Alessandro first saw Ramona’s figure dimly 
in the gloom, drawing slowly nearer, he did not recog- 
nize it, and he was full of apprehension at the sight. 
What stranger could it be, abroad in these lonely 
meadows at this hour of the night ? Hastily he led 
the horses farther back into the copse, and hid him- 
self behind a tree, to watch. In a few moments more 
he thought he recognized Capitan, bounding by the 
side of this bent and slow-moving figure. Yet this 
was surely an Indian woman toiling along under a 
heavy load. But what Indian woman would have so 
superb a colley as Capitan ? Alessandro strained his 
eyes through the darkness. Presently he saw the 
figure halt, — drop part of its burden. 

“ Alessandro ! ” came in a sweet, low call. 

He bounded like a deer, crying, “ My Senorita ! 
my Seiiorita ! Can that be you ? To think that you 
have brought these heavy loads ! ” 

Ramona laughed. “ Do you remember the day you 
showed me how the Indian women carried so much 
on their backs, in these nets ? I did not think 
then I would use it so soon. But it hurts my 
forehead, Alessandro. It is n’t the weight, but the 
strings cut. I could n’t have carried them much 
farther ! ” 

“Ah, you had no basket to cover the head,” re- 
plied Alessandro, as he threw up the two nets on his 
shoulders as if they had been feathers. In doing so, 
he felt the violin-case. 

“ Is it the violin ? ” he cried. “ My blessed one, 
where did you get it ? ” 

“ Off the table in Felipe’s room,” she answered. 
“I knew you would rather have it than anything 
else. . I brought very little, Alessandro ; it seemed 
nothing while I was getting it ; but it is very heavy 
to carry. Will it be too much for the poor tired 
horse ? You and I can walk. And see, Alessandro, 


RAMONA. 


261 


here is Capitan. He waked up, and I had to bring 
him, to keep him still. Can’t he go with us ? ” 

Capitan was leaping up, putting his paws on Ales- 
sandro’s breast, licking his face, yelping, doing all a 
dog could do, to show welcome and affection. 

Alessandro laughed aloud. Eamona had not more 
than two or three times heard him do this. It fright- 
ened her. “Why do you laugh, Alessandro?” she 
said. 

“ To think what I have to show you, my Seiiorita,” 
he said. “ Look here ; ” and turning towards the wil- 
lows, he gave two or three low whistles, at the first 
note of which Baba came trotting out of the copse to 
the end of his lariat, and began to snort and whinny 
with delight as soon as he perceived Ramona. 

Ramona burst into tears. The surprise was too 
great. 

“ Are you not glad, Seiiorita ? ” cried Alessandro, 
aghast. “ Is it not your own horse ? If you do not 
wish to take him, I will lead him back. My pony 
can carry you, if we journey very slowly. But I 
thought it would be joy to you to have Baba.” 

“ Oh, it is ! it is ! ” sobbed Ramona, with her head 
on Baba’s neck. “ It is a miracle, — a miracle. How 
did he come here ? And the saddle too ! ” she cried, 
for the first time observing that. “ Alessandro,” in an 
awe-struck whisper, “ did the saints send him ? Did 
you find him here ? ” It would have seemed to 
Ramona’s faith no strange thing, had this been so. 

“ I think the saints helped me to bring him,” 
answered Alessandro, seriously, “ or else I had not done 
it so easily. I did but call, near the corral-fence, and 
he came to my hand, and leaped over the rails at my 
word, as quickly as Capitan might have done. He is 
yours, Seiiorita. It is no harm to take him ? ” 

“ Oh, no I ” answered Ramona. “ He is more mine 
than anything else I had; for it was Felipe gave him 


262 


RAMONA. 


to me when he could but just stand on his legs ; he 
was only two days old ; and I have fed him out of 
my hand every day till now ; and now he is five. 
Dear Baba, we will never be parted, never ! ” and 
she took his paw in both her hands, and laid her 
cheek against it lovingly. 

Alessandro was busy, fastening the two nets on 
either side the saddle. “ Baba will never know 
he has a load at all ; they are not so heavy as my 
Senorita thought,” he said. “ It was the weight on the 
forehead, with nothing to keep the strings from the 
skin, which gave her pain.” 

Alessandro was making all haste. His hands trem- 
bled. “We must make all the speed we can, dearest 
Senorita,” he said, “ for a few hours. Then we will 
rest. Before light, we will be in a spot where we can 
hide safely all day. We will journey only by night, 
lest they pursue us.” 

“ They will not,” said Ramona. “ There is no 
danger. The Senora said she should do nothing. 

‘ Nothing ! ’ ” she repeated, in a bitter tone. “ That 
is what she made Felipe say, too. Felipe wanted to 
help us. He would have liked to have you stay 
with us ; but all he could get was, that she would do 
‘ nothing ! ’ But they will not follow us. They will 
wish never to hear of me again. I mean, the Senora 
will wish never to hear of me. Felipe will be sorry. 
Felipe is very good, Alessandro.” 

They were all ready now, — -Ramona on Baba, 
the two packed nets swinging from her saddle, 
one on either side. Alessandro, walking, led his 
tired pony. It was a sad sort of procession for 
one going to be wed, but Ramona’s heart was full 
of joy. 

“ I don’t know why it is, Alessandro,” she said ; 
“ I should think I would be afraid, but I have not 
the least fear, — not the least ; not of anything that 


RAMONA. 


263 


can come, Alessandro,” she reiterated with emphasis. 
“ Is it not strange ? ” 

“ Yes, Senorita,” he replied solemnly, laying his 
hand on hers as he walked close at her side. “ It is 
strange. I am afraid, — afraid for you, my Senorita ! 
But it is done, and we will not go back ; and perhaps 
the saints will help you, and will let me take care 
of you. They must love you, Senorita ; but they do 
not love me, nor my people.” 

“ Are you never going to call me by my name ? ” 
asked Bamona. “ I hate your calling me Senorita. 
That was what the Senora always called me when 
she was displeased.” 

“ I will never speak the word again ! ” cried Ales- 
sandro. “ The saints forbid I should speak to you 
in the words of that woman ! ” 

“ Can’t you say Bamona ? ” she asked. 

Alessandro hesitated. He could not have told why 
it seemed to him difficult to say Bamona. 

“ What was that other name, you said you always 
thought of me by ? ” she continued. “ The Indian 
name, — the name of the dove ? ” 

“ Majel,” he said. “It is by that name I have often- 
est thought of you since the night I watched all night 
for you, after you had kissed me, and two wood-doves 
were calling and answering each other in the dark ; 
and I said to myself, that is what my love is like, 
the wood-dove : the wood-dove’s voice is low like 
hers, and sweeter than any other sound in the earth ; 
and the wood-dove is true to one mate always — ” 
He stopped. 

“ As I to you, Alessandro,” said Bamona, leaning 
from her horse, and resting her hand on Alessandro’s 
shoulder. 

Baba stopped. He was used to knowing by the 
most trivial signs what his mistress wanted ; he did 
not understand this new situation ; no one had ever 


2(34 


RAMONA. 


before, when Ramona was riding him, walked by 
his side so close that he touched his shoulders, and 
rested his hand in his mane. If it had been anybody 
else than Alessandro, Baba would not have permitted 
it even now. But it must be all right, since Ramona 
was quiet ; and now she had stretched out her hand 
and rested it on Alessandro’s shoulder. Did that mean 
halt for a moment ? Baba thought it might, and 
acted accordingly ; turning his head round to the 
right, and looking back to see what came of it. 

Alessandro’s arms around Ramona, her head bent 
down to his, their lips together, — what could Baba 
think ? As mischievously as if he had been a human 
being or an elf, Baba bounded to one side and tore 
the lovers apart. They both laughed, and cantered 
on, — Alessandro running ; the poor Indian pony 
feeling the contagion, and loping as it had not done 
for many a day. 

“Majel is my name, then,” said Ramona, “ is it? 
It is a sweet sound, but I would like it better 
Majella. Call me Majella.” 

“ That will be good,” replied Alessandro, “ for the 
reason that never before had any one the same name. 
It will not be hard for me to say Majella. I know 
not why your name of Ramona has always been hard 
to my tongue.” 

“ Because it was to be that you should call me 
Majella,” said Ramona. “ Remember, I am Ramona 
no longer. That also was the name the Senora called 
me by — and dear Felipe too,” she added thought- 
fully. “ He would not know me by my new name. 
I would like to have him always call me Ramona. 
But for all the rest of the world I am Majella, now, — 
Alessandro’s Majel ! ” 


XVI. 


FTER they reached the highway, and had trot- 



ted briskly on for a mile, Alessandro suddenly 
put out his hand, and taking Baba by the rein, began 
turning him round and round in the road. 

“ We will not go any farther in the road,” he said, 
“ but I must conceal our tracks here. We will go 
backwards for a few paces.” The obedient Baba 
backed slowly, half dancing, as if he understood the 
trick ; the Indian pony, too, curvetted awkwardly, 
then by a sudden bound under Alessandro’s skilful 
guidance, leaped over a rock to the right, and stood 
waiting further orders. Baba followed, and Capitan ; 
and there was no trail to show where they had left 
the road. 

After trotting the pony round and round again 
in ever-widening circles, cantering off in one direc- 
tion after another, then backing over the tracks for 
a few moments, Bauiona docilely following, though 
much bewildered as to what it all meant, Alessandro 
said : “ I think now they will never discover where 
we left the road. They will ride along, seeing our 
tracks plain, and then they will be so sure that we 
would have kept straight on, that they will not no- 
tice for a time; and when they do, they will never be 
able to see where the trail ended. And now my 
Majella has a very hard ride before her. Will she 
be afraid ? ” 

“ Afraid ! ” laughed Bamona. “ Afraid, — on Baba, 
and with you ! ” 

But it was indeed a hard ride. Alessandro had 


266 


RAMONA. 


decided to hide for the day in a canon he knew, from 
which a narrow trail led direct to Temecula, — a trail 
which was known to none but Indians. Once in this 
canon, they would be safe from all possible pursuit. 
Alessandro did not in the least share Ramona’s confi- 
dence that no effort would be made to overtake them. 
To his mind, it appeared certain that the Sen ora 
would never accept the situation without making 
an attempt to recover at least the horse and the 
dog. “ She can say, if she chooses, that I have stolen 
one of her horses,” he thought to himself bitterly ; 
“and everybody would believe her. Nobody would 
believe us, if we said it was the Senorita’s own 
horse.” 

The head of the canon was only a couple of miles 
from the road ; but it was in a nearly impenetrable 
thicket of chaparral, where young oaks had grown up 
so high that their tops made, as it were, a second 
stratum of thicket. Alessandro had never ridden 
through it ; he had come up on foot once from the 
other side, and, forcing his way through the tangle, 
had found, to his surprise, that he was near the high- 
way. It was from this canon that he had brought 
the ferns which it had so delighted Ramona to arrange 
for the decoration of the chapel.' The place was filled 
with them, growing almost in tropical luxuriance ; 
but this was a mile or so farther down, and to reach 
that spot from above, Alessandro had had to let him- 
self down a sheer wall of stone. The cafion at its 
head was little more than a rift in the rocks, and the 
stream which had its rise in it was only a trickling 
spring at the beginning. It was this precious water, 
as well as the inaccessibility of the spot, which had 
decided Alessandro to gain the place at all hazards 
and costs. But a wall of granite would not have 
seemed a much more insuperable obstacle than did 
this wall of chaparral, along which they rode, vainly 


RAMONA. 


267 


searching for a break in it. It appeared to Alessandro 
to have thickened and knit even since the last 
spring. At last they made their way down a small 
side canon, — a sort of wing to the main canon ; 
a very few rods down this, and they were as hidden 
from view from above as if the earth had swallowed 
them. The first red tints of the dawn were coming. 
From the eastern horizon to the zenith, the whole sky 
was like a dappled crimson fleece. 

“ Oh, what a lovely place ! ” exclaimed Ramona. 
“ I am sure this was not a hard ride at all, Alessan- 
dro ! Is this where we are to stay ? ” 

Alessandro turned a compassionate look upon her. 
“ How little does the wood-dove know of rough 
places!” he said. “This is only the beginning ; hard- 
ly is it even the beginning.” 

Fastening his pony to a bush, he reconnoitred the 
place, disappearing from sight the moment he entered 
the chaparral in any direction. Returning at last, 
with a grave face, he said, “ Will Majella let me 
leave her here for a little time ? There is a way, but 
I can find it only on foot. I will not be gone long. 
I know it is near.” 

Tears came into Ramona’s eyes. The only thing 
she dreaded was the losing sight of Alessandro. He 
gazed at her anxiously. “I must go, tylajella,” he 
said with emphasis. “ We are in danger here.” 

“ Go ! go ! Alessandro,” she cried. “ But, oh, do not 
be long ! ” . 

As he disappeared in the thicket, the tough boughs 
crackling and snapping before him, it seemed to Ra- 
mona that she was again alone in the world. Capi- 
tan, too, bounded after Alessandro, and did not return 
at her call. All was still. Ramona laid her head on 
Baba’s neck. The moments seemed hours. At last, 
just as the yellow light streamed across the sky, and 
the crimson fleeces turned in one second to gold, she 


268 


RAMONA. 


heard Alessandro’s steps, the next moment saw his 
face. It was aglow with joy. 

“ I have found the trail ! ” he exclaimed ; “ but we 
must climb up again out of this ; and it is too light. 
I like it not.” 

With fear and trembling they urged their horses 
up and out into the open again, and galloped a half- 
mile farther west, still keeping as close to the chap- 
arral thicket as possible. Here Alessandro, who 
led the way, suddenly turned into the very thicket 
itself; no apparent opening; but the boughs parted 
and closed, and his head appeared above them ; still 
the little pony was trotting bravely along. Baba 
snorted with displeasure as he plunged into the same 
bristling pathway. The thick-set, thorny branches 
smote Ramona’s cheeks. What was worse, they 
caught the nets swung on Baba’s sides ; presently 
these were held fast, and Baba began to rear and 
kick. Here was a real difficulty. Alessandro dis- 
mounted, cut the strings, and put both the packages 
securely on the back of his own pony. “ I will walk,” 
he said. “ It was only a little way longer I would have 
ridden. I shall lead Baba, where it is narrow.” 

“Harrow,” indeed. It was from sheer terror, soon, 
that Ramona shut her eyes. A path, it seemed to 
her only a hand’s-breadth wide, — a stony, crumbling 
path, — on the side of a precipice, down which the 
stones rolled, and rolled, and rolled, echoing, far out 
of sight, as they passed ; at each step the beasts took, 
the stones rolled and fell. Only the yucca-plants, 
with their sharp bayonet-leaves, had made shift to. 
keep foothold on this precipice. Of these there 
were thousands ; and their tall flower- stalks, fifteen, 
twenty feet high, set thick with the shining, smooth 
seed-cups, glistened like satin chalices in the sun. 
Below — hundreds of feet below — lay the canon bot- 
tom, a solid bed of chaparral, looking soft and even 


RAMONA. 


269 


as a bed of moss. Giant sycamore- trees lifted their 
heads, at intervals, above this ; and far out in the 
plain glistened the loops of the river, whose sources, 
unknown to the world, seen of but few human eyes, 
were to be waters of comfort to these fugitives this 
day- 

Alessandro was cheered. The trail was child’s play 
to him. At the first tread of Baba’s dainty steps on 
the rolling stones, he saw that the horse was as sure- 
footed as an Indian pony. In a few short hours, now, 
they would be all at rest. He knew where, under 
a sycamore- clump, there was running water, clear as 
crystal, and cold, — almost colder than one could 
drink, — and green grass too ; plenty for two days’ 
feed for the horses, or even three ; and all California 
might be searched over in vain for them, once they 
were down this trail. His heart full of joy at these 
thoughts, he turned, to see Ramona pallid, her lips 
parted, her eyes full of terror. He had forgotten that 
her riding had hitherto been only on the smooth ways 
of the valley and the plain. There she was so fearless, 
that he had had no misgiving about her nerves here ; 
but she had dropped the reins, was clutching Baba’s 
mane with both hands, and sitting unsteadily in her 
saddle. She had been too proud to cry out ; but she 
was nearly beside herself with fright. Alessandro 
halted so suddenly that Baba, whose nose was nearly 
on his shoulder, came to so "sharp a stop that Ra- 
mona uttered a cry. She thought he had lost his 
footing. 

Alessandro looked at her in dismay. To dismount 
on that perilous trail was impossible ; moreover, to 
walk there would take more nerve than to ride. Yet 
she looked as if she could not much longer keep her 
seat. 

“ Carita,” he cried, “ I was stupid not to have told 
you how narrow the way is ; but it is safe. I can 


270 


RAMONA. 


run in it. I ran all this way with the ferns on my 
back I brought for you.” 

“ Oh, did you ? ” gasped Ramona, diverted, for the 
moment, from her contemplation of the abyss, and 
more reassured by that change of her thoughts than 
she could have been by anything else. “ Did you ? 
It is frightful, Alessandro. I never heard of such a 
trail. I feel as if I were on a rope in the air. If 
I could get down and go on my hands and knees, I 
think I would like it better. Could I ? ” 

“I would not dare to have you get off, just here, 
Majella,” answered Alessandro, sorrowfully. “ It is 
dreadful to me to see you suffer so ; I will go very 
slowly. Indeed, it is safe ; we all came up here, the 
whole band, for the sheep-shearing, — old Fernando 
on his horse all the way.” 

“Really,” said Ramona, taking comfort at each 
word, “ I will try not to be so silly. Is it far, dearest 
Alessandro ? ” 

“Not much more as steep as this, dear, nor so 
narrow ; but it will be an hour yet before we stop.” 

But the worst was over for Ramona now, and long 
before they reached the bottom of the precipice she 
was ready to laugh at her fears ; only, as she looked 
back at the zigzag lines of the path over which ~he 
had come, — little more than a brown thread, they 
seemed, flung along the rock, — she shuddered. 

Down in the bottom of the canon it was still the 
dusky gloaming when they arrived. Day came late to 
this fairy spot. Only at high noon did the sun fairly 
shine in. As Ramona looked around her, she uttered 
an exclamation of delight, which satisfied Alessandro. 
“ Yes,” he said, “ when I came here for the ferns, I 
wished to myself many times that you could see 
it. There is ‘not in all this country so beautiful a 
place. This is our first home, my Majella,” he added, 
in a tone almost solemn ; and throwing his arms 


RAMONA. 271 

around her, he drew her to his breast, with the first 
feeling of joy he had experienced. 

“ I wish we could live here always,” cried Eamona. 

“ Would Majella be content ?” said Alessandro. 

“ Very,” she answered. 

He sighed. “ There would not be land enough, to 
live here,” he said. “ If there were, I too would like 
to stay here till I died, Majella, and never see the 
face of a white man again ! ” Already the instinct of 
the hunted and wounded animal to seek hiding, was 
striving in Alessandro’s blood. “ But there would be 
no food. We could not live here.” Bamona’s ex- 
clamation had set Alessandro to thinking, however. 
“ Would Majella be content to stay here three days 
now ? ” he asked. “ There is grass enough for the 
horses for that time. We should be-very safe here; 
and I fear very much we should not be safe on any 
road. I think, Majella, the Senora will send men 
after Baba.” 

“ Baba ! ” cried Eamona, aghast at the idea. “ My 
own horse ! She would not dare to call it stealing 
a horse, to take my own Baba!” But even as she 
spoke, her heart misgave her. The Senora would dare 
anything ; would misrepresent anything ; only too well 
Eamona knew what the very mention of the phrase 
“ horse-stealing” meant all through the country. She 
looked piteously at Alessandro. He read her thoughts. 

“Yes, that is it, Majella,” he said. “If she sent 
men after Baba, there is no knowing what they might 
do. It would not do any good for you to say he was 
yours. They would not believe you ; and they might 
take me too, if the Senora had told them to, and put 
me into Ventura jail.” 

“ She ’s just wicked enough to do it! ” cried Eamona. 
“ Let us not stir out of this spot, Alessandro, — not for 
a week ! Could n’t we stay a week ? By that time she 
would have given over looking for us.” 


272 


RAMONA . 


“ I am afraid not a week. There is not feed for 
the horses ; and I do not know what we could eat. I 
have my gun, but there is not much, now, to kill.” 

“ But I have brought meat and bread, Alessandro,” 
said Ramona, earnestly, “ and we could eat very little 
each day, and make it last ! ” She was like a child, 
in her simplicity and eagerness. Every other thought 
was for the time being driven out of her mind by the 
terror of being pursued. Pursuit of her, she knew, 
would not be in the Senora’s plan ; but the reclaim- 
ing of Baba and Capitan, that was another thing. 
The more Ramona thought of it, the more it seemed 
to her a form of vengeance which would be likely to 
commend itself to the Senora’s mind. Felipe might 
possibly prevent it. It was he who had given Baba 
to her. He would feel that it would be shameful to 
recall or deny the gift. Only in Felipe lay Ramona’s 
hope. 

If she had thought to tell Alessandro that in her 
farewell note to Felipe she had said that she sup- 
posed they were going to Father Salvierderra, it 
would have saved both her and Alessandro much 
disquietude. Alessandro would have known that 
men pursuing them, on that supposition, would have 
gone straight down the river road to the sea, and 
struck northward along the coast. But it did not 
occur to Ramona to mention this ; in fact, she hardly 
recollected it after the first day. Alessandro had ex- 
plained to her his plan, which was to go by way of 
Temecula to San Diego, to be married there by Father 
Gaspara, the priest of that parish, and then go to the 
village or pueblo of San Pasquale, about fifteen miles 
northwest of San Diego. A cousin of Alessandro’s 
was the head man of this village, and had many 
times begged him to come there to live ; but Ales- 
sandro had steadily refused, believing it to be his 
duty to remain at Temecula with his father. San 


RAMONA. 


273 


Pasquale was a regularly established pueblo, founded 
by a number of the Indian neophytes of the San 
Luis Rey Mission at the time of the breaking up 
of that Mission. It was established by a decree of 
the Governor of California, and the lands of the San 
Pasquale Valley given to it. A paper recording this 
establishment and gift, signed by the Governor’s own 
hand, was given to the Indian who was the first 
Alcalde of the pueblo. He was Chief Pablo's brother. 
At his death the authority passed into the hands of 
his son, Ysidro, the cousin of whom Alessandro had 
spoken. 

“ Ysidro has that paper still,” Alessandro said, 
“ and he thinks it will keep them their village. Per- 
haps it will ; but the Americans are beginning to 
come in at the head of the valley, and I do not be- 
lieve, Majella, there is any safety anywhere. Still, 
for a few years we can perhaps stay there. There 
are nearly two hundred Indians in the valley ; it # is 
much better than Temecula, and Ysidro’s people 
are much better off than ours were. They have 
splendid herds of cattle and horses, and large wheat- 
fields. Ysidro’s house stands under a great fig-tree ; 
they say it is the largest fig-tree in the country.” 

“ But, Alessandro,” cried Ramona, “ why do you 
think it is not safe there, if Ysidro has the paper ? 
I thought a paper made it all right.” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Alessandro. “ Perhaps it 
may be ; but I have got the feeling now that nothing 
will be of any use against the Americans. I don’t 
believe they will mind the paper.” 

“ They did n’t mind the papers the Sefiora had for 
all that land of hers they took away,” said Ramona, 
thoughtfully. “ But Felipe said that was because Pio 
Pico was a bad man, and gave away lands he had 
no right to give away.” 

“ That ’s just it,” said Alessandro. “ Can’t they say 
18 


274 


RAMONA. 


that same thing about any governor, especially if he 
has given lands to us ? If the Senora could n’t keep 
hers, with Senor Felipe to help her, and he knows all 
about the law, and can speak the American language, 
what chance is there for us ? We can’t take care of 
ourselves any better than the wild beasts can, my 
Majella. Oh, why, why did you come with me ? Why 
did I let you?” 

After such words as these, Alessandro would throw 
himself on the ground, and for a few moments not 
even Ramona’s voice would make him look up. It 
was strange that the gentle girl, unused to hardship, 
or to the thought of danger, did not find herself terri- 
fied by these fierce glooms and apprehensions of her 
lover. But she was . appalled by nothing. Saved 
from the only thing in life she had dreaded, sure that 
Alessandro lived, and that he would not leave her, 
she had no fears. This was partly from her inex- 
perience, from her utter inability to conceive of the 
things Alessandro’s imagination painted in colors 
only too true; but it was also largely due to the ina- 
lienable loyalty and quenchless courage of her soul, — 
qualities in her nature never yet tested ; qualities of 
which she hardly knew so much as the name, but 
which were to bear her steadfast and buoyant through 
many sorrowful years. 

Before nightfall of this their first day in the wilder- 
ness, Alessandro had prepared for Bamona a bed of 
finely broken twigs of the manzanita and ceanothus, 
both of which grew in abundance all through the canon. 
Above these he spread layers of glossy ferns, five and 
six feet long ; when it was done, it was a couch no 
queen need have scorned. As Ramona seated herself 
on it, she exclaimed : “ Now I shall see how it feels 
to lie and look up at the stars at night ! Do you 
recollect, Alessandro, the night you put Felipe’s bed 
on the veranda, when you told me how beautiful it 


RAMONA. 


275 


was to lie at night out of doors and look up at the 
stars ? ” 

Indeed did Alessandro remember that night, — the 
first moment he had ever dared to dream of the Seno- 
rita Ramona as his own. “ Yes, I remember it, my 
Majella,” he answered slowly; and in a moment more 
added, “That was the day Juan Can had told me 
that your mother was of my people ; and that was the 
night I first dared in my thoughts to say that perhaps 
you might some day love me.” 

“ But where are you going to sleep, Alessandro ? ” 
said Ramona, seeing that he spread no more boughs. 
“ You have made yourself no bed.” 

Alessandro laughed. “I need no bed,” he said. 
“We think it is on our mother’s lap we lie, when we 
lie on the ground. It is not hard, Majella. It is soft, 
and rests one better than beds. But to-night I shall 
not sleep. I will sit by this tree and watch.” 

“ Why, what are you afraid of ? ” asked Ramona. 

“ It may grow so cold that I must make a fire for 
Majella,” he answered.- “It sometimes gets very 
cold before morning in these canons ; so I shall feel 
safer to watch to-night.” 

This he said, not to alarm Ramona. His real rea- 
son for watching was, that he had seen on the edge of 
the stream tracks which gave him uneasiness. They 
were faint and evidently old ; but they looked like 
the tracks of a mountain lion. As soon as it was 
dark enough to prevent the curl of smoke from being- 
seen from below, he would light a fire, and keep it 
blazing all night, and watch, gun in hand, lest the 
beast return. 

“ But you will be dead, Alessandro, if you do not 
sleep. You are not strong,” said Ramona, anxiously. 

“ I am strong now, Majella,” answered Alessandro. 
And indeed he did already look like a renewed man, 
spite of all his fatigue and anxiety. “ I am no longer 


276 


RAMONA. 


weak; and to-morrow I will sleep, and you shall 
watch.” 

“ Will you lie on the fern-bed then ? ” asked Ea- 
mona, gleefully. 

“ I would like the ground better,” said honest 
Alessandro. 

Eamona looked disappointed. “ That is very 
strange,” she said. “ It is not so soft, this bed of 
boughs, that one need fear to be made tender by 
lying on it,” she continued, throwing herself down; 
“ but oh, how sweet, how sweet it smells ! ” 

“ Yes, there is spice- wood in it,” he answered. “ I 
put it in at the head, for Majella’s pillow.” 

Eamona was very tired, and she was happy. All 
night long she slept like a child. She did not hear 
Alessandro’s steps. She did not hear the - crackling 
of the fire he lighted. She did not hear the barking 
of Capitan, who more than once, spite of all Ales- 
sandro could do to quiet him, made the canon echo 
with sharp, quick notes of warning, as he heard 
the stealthy steps of wild creatures in the chap- 
arral. Hour after hour she slept on. And hour 
after hour Alessandro sat leaning against a huge 
sycamore-trunk, and watched her. As the fitful fire- 
light played over her face, he thought he had never 
seen it so beautiful. Its expression of calm repose 
insensibly soothed and strengthened him. She looked 
like a saint, he thought; perhaps it was as a saint 
of help and guidance, the Virgin was sending her to 
him and his people. The darkness deepened, became 
blackness ; only the red gleams from the fire broke 
it, in swaying rifts, as the wind makes rifts in black 
storm-clouds in the heavens. With the darkness, the 
stillness also deepened. Nothing broke that, except 
an occasional motion of Baba or the pony, or an alert 
signal from Capitan ; then all seemed stiller than 
ever. Alessandro felt as if God himself were in thu 


RAMONA. 


277 


canon. Countless times in his life before he had 
lain in lonely places under the sky and watched the 
night through, but he never felt like this. It was 
ecstasy, and yet it was pain. What was to come on 
the morrow, and the next morrow, and the next, and 
the next, all through the coming years ? What was 
to come to this beloved and loving woman who lay 
there sleeping, so confident, so trustful, guarded only 
by him, — by him, Alessandro, the exile, fugitive, 
homeless man ? 

Before the dawn, wood-doves began their calling. 
The canon was full of them, no two notes quite alike, 
it seemed to Alessandro’s sharpened sense ; pair after 
pair, he fancied that he recognized, speaking and re- 
plying, as did the pair whose voices had so comforted 
him the night he watched under the geranium hedge 
by the Moreno chapel,- — “Love ? ” “ Here ! ” “ Love ? ” 
“ Here ! ” They comforted him still more now. 
“ They too have only each other,” he thought, as he 
bent liis eyes lovingly on Bamona’s face. 

It was dawn, and past dawn, on the plains, before 
it was yet morning twilight in the canon ; but the 
birds in the upper boughs of the sycamores caught 
the tokens of the coming day, and began to twitter 
in the dusk. Their notes fell on Ramona’s sleeping 
ear, like the familiar sound of the linnets in the 
veranda-thatch at home, and waked her instantly. 
Sitting up bewildered, and looking about her, she 
exclaimed, “ Oh, is it morning already, and so dark ? 
The birds can see more sky than we ! Sing, Alessan- 
dro ” and she began the hymn : — 

“ ‘ Singers at dawn 

From the heavens above 
People all regions ; 

Gladly we too sing,’ ” 

Never went up truer invocation, from sweeter spot. 


278 


RAMONA. 


“ Sing not so loud, my Majel,” whispered Alessan- 
dro, as her voice went carolling like a lark’s in the 
pure ether. “ There might be hunters near who 
would hear;” and he joined in with low and muffled 
tones. 

As she dropped her voice at this caution, it seemed 
even sweeter than before : — 

“ ‘ Come, O sinners, 

Come, and we will sing 
Tender hymns 
To our refuge.’ ” 

“ Ah, Majella, there is no sinner here, except me !” 
said Alessandro. “My Majella is like one of the 
Virgin’s own saints.” And indeed he might have 
been forgiven the thought, as he gazed at Ramona, 
sitting there in the shimmering light, her face thrown 
out into relief by the gray wall of fern-draped rock 
behind her ; her splendid hair, unbound, falling in 
tangled masses to her waist ; her cheeks flushed, her 
face radiant with devout and fervent supplication, 
her eyes uplifted to the narrow belt of sky overhead, 
where filmy vapors were turning to gold, touched by 
a sun she could not see. 

“ Hush, my love,” she breathed rather than said. 
“ That would be a sin, if you really thought it. 

‘ 0 beautiful Queen, 

Princess of Heaven,’ ” 

she continued, repeating the first lines of the song; 
and then, sinking on her knees, reached out one hand 
for Alessandro’s, and glided, almost without a break 
in. the melodious sound, into a low recitative of the 
morning prayers. Her rosary was of fine-chased gold 
beads, with an ivory crucifix ; a rare and precious 
relic of the Missions’ olden times. It had belonged 
to Father Peyri himself, was given by him to Fa- 
ther Salvierderra, and by Father Salvierderra to the 


RAMONA. 


279 


“blessed child,” Ramona, at her confirmation. A 
warmer token of his love and trust he could not 
have bestowed upon her, and to Ramona’s religious 
and affectionate heart it had always seemed a bond 
and an assurance, not only of Father Salvierderra’s 
love, but of the love and protection of the now sainted 
Peyri. 

As she pronounced the last words of her trusting 
prayer, and slipped the last of the golden beads along 
on its string, a thread of sunlight shot into the canon 
through a deep narrow gap in its rocky eastern 
crest, — shot in for a second, no more ; fell aslant the 
rosary, lighted it ; by a flash as if of fire, across the 
fine-cut facets of the beads, on Ramona’s hands, and 
on the white face of the ivory Christ. Only a flash, 
and it was gone ! To both Ramona and Alessandro it 
came like an omen, — like a message straight from the 
Virgin. Could she choose better messenger, — she, 
the compassionate one, the loving woman in heaven ; 
mother of the Christ to whom they prayed, through 
her, — mother, for whose sake He would regard their 
least cry, — could she choose better messenger, or 
swifter, than the sunbeam, to say that she heard and 
would help them in these sore straits ? 

Perhaps there were not, in the whole great world, 
at that moment to be found, two souls who were ex- 
periencing so vivid a happiness as thrilled the veins 
of these two friendless ones, on their knees, alone in 
the wilderness, gazing half awe-stricken at the shin- 
ing rosary. 


XVII. 


EFORE the end of their second day in the cafion, 



A) the place had become to Ramona so like a 
friendly home, that she dreaded to leave its shelter. 
Nothing is stronger proof of the original intent of 
Nature to' do more for man than civilization in its 
arrogance will long permit her to do, than the quick 
and sure way in which she reclaims his affection, 
when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster, he is re- 
turned, for an interval, to her arms. How soon he 
rejects the miserable subterfuges of wdiat he had 
called habits ; sheds the still more miserable pre- 
tences of superiority, makeshifts of adornment, and 
chains of custom ! “ Whom the gods love, die young,” 
has been too long carelessly said. It is not true, in 
the sense in which men use the words. Whom the 
gods love, dwell with nature ; if they are ever lured 
away, return to her before they are old. Then, how- 
ever long they live before they die, they die young. 
Whom the gods love, live young — forever. 

With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of 
the Indian, Alessandro saw how, hour by hour, there 
grew in Ramona’s eyes the wonted look of one at 
home ; how she watched the shadows, and knew what 
they meant. 

“ If we lived here, the walls would be sun-dials for 
us, would they not ? ” she said, in a tone of pleas- 
ure. “ I see that yon tall yucca has gone in shadow 
sooner than it did yesterday.” 

And, “ What millions of things grow here, Ales- 
sandro ! I did not know there were so many. Have 


RAMONA. 


281 


they all names ? The nuns taught us some names ; 
but they were hard, and I forgot them. We might 
name them for ourselves, if we lived here. They 
would be our relations.” 

And, “ For one year I should lie and look up at 
the sky, my Alessandro, and do nothing else. It 
hardly seems as if it would be a sin to do nothing 
for a year, if one gazed steadily at the sky all the 
while.” 

And, “ Now I know what it is I have always seen 
in your face, Alessandro. It is the look from the 
sky. One must be always serious and not unhappy, 
but never too glad, I think, when he lives with noth- 
ing between him and the sky, and the saints can see 
him every minute.” 

And, “ I cannot believe that it is but two days I 
have lived in the air, Alessandro. This seems to me 
the first home I have ever had. Is it because I am 
Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy ? ” 

It was strange how many more words Eamona 
spoke than Alessandro, yet how full she felt their 
intercourse to be. His silence was more than silent ; 
it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. 
A monosyllable of Alessandro’s, nay, a look, told 
what other men took long sentences to say, and said 
less eloquently. 

After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, “ You 
speak as the trees speak, and like the rock yonder, 
and the flowers, without saying anything!” 

This delighted Alessandro’s very heart. “And 
you, Majella,” he exclaimed ; “ when you say that, 
you speak in the language of our people ; you are as 
we are.” 

And Ean^ona, in her turn, was made happy by 
his words, — happier than she would have been made 
by any other praise or fondness. 

Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength 


282 


RAMONA. 


as if by a miracle. The gaunt look had left his 
face. Almost it seemed that its contour was already 
fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a 
Fairy who wooed a Prince, came again and again to 
him, and, herself invisible to all but the Prince, hov- 
ered in the air, sang loving songs to draw him away 
from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard 
her voice and summoned magicians to rout her by all 
spells and enchantments at their command. Finally 
they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off; 
but as she vanished from the Prince’s sight she threw 
him an apple, — a magic golden apple. Once having 
tasted of this, he refused all other food. Day after 
day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple ; 
and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, 
there lay the golden fruit, still whole and shining, as 
if he had not fed upon it ; and when the Fairy came 
the next time, the Prince leaped into her magic boat, 
sailed away with her, and never was. seen in his king- 
dom again. It was only an allegory, this legend, — 
a beautiful allegory, and true, — of love and lovers. 
The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, 
now growing strong, was as magic and invisible as 
Prince Connla’s 'apple, and just as strength -giving. 

“ My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so 
soon ? ” said Ramona, studying his countenance with 
loving care. “ I thought that night you would die. 
Now you look nearly strong as ever ; your eyes shine, 
and your hand is not hot ! It is the blessed air ; it 
has cured you, as it cured Felipe of the fever.” 

" If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, 
Majella,” replied Alessandro. “ I had been under no 
roof except the tule-shed, till I saw you. It is not 
the air ; ” and he looked at her with a gaze that said 
the rest. 

At twilight of the third day, when Ramona saw 
Alessandro leading up Baba, saddled ready for the 


RAMONA. 


283 


journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noon Alessan- 
dro had said to her : “ To-night, Majella, we must go. 
There is not grass enough for another day. We must 
go while the horses are strong. I dare not lead them 
any farther down the canon to graze, for there is a 
ranch only a few miles lower. To-day I found one 
of the man’s cows feeding near Baba.” 

Bamona made no remonstrance. The necessity 
was too evident ; but the look on her face gave Ales- 
sandro a new pang. He, too, felt as if exiled afresh 
in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses 
slowly up, and saw Bamona sitting in a dejected atti- 
tude beside the nets, in which were again carefully 
packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. 
Again the sense of his homeless and destitute con- 
dition settled like an unbearable burden on his soul. 
Whither and to what was he leading his Majella ? 

But once in the saddle, Bamona recovered cheer- 
fulness. Baba was in such gay heart, she could not 
be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairly rollicking 
with satisfaction at being once more on the move. 
Capitan, too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, 
spite of its refreshing shade and cool water. He 
longed for sheep. He did not understand this inac- 
tivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ba- 
mona laugh more than once, as he would come and 
stand before her, wagging his tail and fixing his eyes 
intently on her face, as if he said in so many words, 
“ What in the world are you about in this canon, and 
do not you ever intend to return home ? Or if you 
will stay here, why not keep sheep ? Do you not 
see that I have nothing to do ? ” 

“We must ride all night, Majella,” said Alessan- 
dro, “ and lose no time. It is a long way to the 
place where we shall stay to-morrow.” 

“ Is it a canon ? ” asked Bamona, hopefully. 

“Ho,” he replied, “not a canon; but there are 


284 


RAMONA. 


beautiful oak-trees. It is where we get our acorns 
for the winter. It is on the top of a high hill.” 

“ Will it be safe there ? ” she asked. 

“I think so,” he replied ; “ though not so safe 
as here. There is no such place as this in all the 
country.” 

“ And then where shall we go next ? ” she asked. 

“ That is very near Temecula,” he said. “We must 
go into Temecula, dear Majella. I must go to Mr. 
Hartsel’s. He is friendly. He will give me money 
for my father’s violin. If it were not for that, I 
would never go near the place again.” 

"I would like to see it, Alessandro,” she said 
gently. 

“ Oh, no, no, Majella ! ” he cried ; “ you would not. 
It is terrible; the houses all unroofed, — all but 
my father’s and Jose’s. They were shingled roofs; 
they will be just the same ; all the rest are only 
walls. Antonio’s mother threw hers down ; I don’t 
know how the old woman ever had the strength ; 
they said she was like a fury. She said nobody 
should ever live in those walls again ; and she took 
a pole, and made a great hole in one side, and then 
she ran Antonio’s wagon against it with all her 
might, till it fell in. No, Majella. It will be 
dreadful.” 

“ Would n’t you like to go into the graveyard 
again, Alessandro?” she said timidly. 

“ The saints forbid ! ” he said solemnly. " I think 
it would make me a murderer to stand in that grave- 
yard ! If I had not you, my Majel, I should kill 
some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak 
of it ! ” he added, after a moment’s silence ; “ it takes 
the strength all out of my blood again, Majella. It 
feels as if I should die ! ” 

And the word “ Temecula ” was not mentioned be- 
tween them again until dusk the next day, when, as 


RAMONA. 


285 


they were riding slowly along between low, wooded 
hills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, 
marshy place, with a little thread of trickling water, 
at which their horses stopped, and drank thirstily ; 
and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in 
the distance. “ Lights, Alessandro, lights ! ” she ex- 
claimed, pointing to them. 

“Yes, Majella,” he replied, “ it is Temecula and 
springing off his pony he came to her side, and 
putting both his hands on hers, said : “ I have been 
thinking, for a long way hack, Carita, what is to he 
done here. I do not know. What does Majella 
think will he wise ? If men have been sent out to 
pursue us, they may be at Hartsel’s. His store is 
the place where everybody stops, everybody goes. I 
dare not have you go there, Majella; yet I must 
go. The only way I can get any money is from 
Mr. Hartsel.” 

“ I must wait somewhere while you go ! ” said 
Ramona, her heart beating as she gazed ahead into 
the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast as 
the sea. “ That is the only safe thing, Alessandro.” 

“ I think so too,” he said ; “ but, oh, I am afraid 
for you ; and will not you be afraid ?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I am afraid. But it is not 
so dangerous as the other.” 

“ If anything were to happen to me, and I could 
not come back to you, Majella, if you give Baba 
his reins he will take you safe home, — he and 
Capitan.” 

Ramona shrieked aloud. She had not thought of 
this possibility. Alessandro had thought of every- 
thing. “ What could happen ? ” she cried. 

“ I mean if the men were there, and if they took 
me for stealing the horse,” he said. ^ 

“ But you would not have the horse with you,” she 
said. “ How could they take you ? ” 


286 


RAMONA. 


« That might n’t make any difference,” replied 
Alessandro. “ They might take me, to make me tell 
where the horse was.’ 

“ Oh, Alessandro,” sobbed Ramona, “ what shall 
we do’l” Then in another second, gathering her 
courage, she exclaimed, “ Alessandro, I know what I 
will do/ I will stay in the graveyard. No one will 
come there. Shall I not be safest there ? ” 

« Holy Virgin ! would ray Majel stay there ? ” .ex- 
claimed Alessandro. 

« Why not ? ” she said. “ It is not the dead that 
will harm us. They would all help us if they could. 
I have no fear. I will wait there while you go ; and 
if you do not come in an ho’ur, I will come to Mr. 
Hartsel’s after you. If there are men of the Senora’s 
there, they will know me ; they will not dare to 
touch me. They will know that Felipe would punish 
them. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered 
to take Baba, they can have him ; we can walk when 
the pony is tired.” 

Her confidence was contagious. “ My wood-dove has 
in her breast the heart of the lion,” said Alessandro, 
fondly. “We will do as she says. She is wise 
and he turned their horses’ heads in the direction of 
the graveyard. It was surrounded by a low adobe 
wall, with one small gate of wooden paling. As 
they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, “ The thieves 
have taken the gate ! ” 

“ What could they have wanted with that ? ” said 
Ramona. 

“ To burn,” he said doggedly. “It was wood ; but 
it was very little. They might have left the graves 
safe from wild beasts and cattle ! ” 

As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose 
from one of the graves. Ramona started. 

“ Fear nothing,” whispered Alessandro. “It must 
be one of our people. I am glad ; now you will not 


RAMONA. 


287 


i)e alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That was the 
corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her ; ” 
and leaving Ramona at the gate, he went slowly 
on, saying in a low voice, in the Luiseno language, 
“ Carmena, is that you ? Have no fear. It is I, 
Alessandro !” * 

It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed 
with grief, was spending her days by her baby’s grave 
in Pachanga, and her nights by her husband’s in 
Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, 
for the Americans were there, and she feared them. 
After a short talk with her, Alessandro returned, lead- 
ing her along. Bringing her to Ramona’s side, he laid 
her feverish hand in Ramona’s, and said : “ Majella, I 
have told her all. She cannot speak a word of Span- 
ish, but she is very glad, she says, that you have 
come with me, and she will stay close by your side 
till I come back.” 

Ramona’s tender heart ached with desire to com- 
fort the girl ; hut all she could do was to press her 
hand in silence. Even in ■ the darkness she could 
see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. 
Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy. Car- 
mena felt in every fibre how Ramona was pitying 
her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to 
draw her from the saddle. Ramona bent down and 
looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew 
her gently with one hand, and with the other pointed 
to the corner from which she had come. Ramona 
understood. “ She wants to show me her husband’s 
grave,” she thought. “ She does not like to be away 
from it. I will go with her.” 

Dismounting, and taking Baba’s bridle over her 
arm, she bowed her head assentinglv, and still keep- 
ing firm hold of Carmena’s hand, followed her. The 
graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each mound 
marked by a small wooden cross. Carmena led with 


288 


RAMONA 


the swift step of one who knew each inch of the way 
by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and 
nearly fell, and Baba was impatient and restive at 
the strange inequalities under his feet. When they 
reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piled earth 
of the new grave. Uttering a wailing cry, Carmena, 
drawing Ramona to the edge of it, pointed down with 
her right hand, then laid both hands on her heart, 
and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst into 
weeping, and again clasping Carmena’s hand, laid it 
on her own breast, to show her sympathy. Carmena 
did not weep. She was long past that ; and she felt 
for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, 
sudden sympathy of this stranger, — this girl like her- 
self, yet so different, so wonderful, so beautiful, Car- 
mena was sure she must be. Had the .saints sent 
her from heaven to Alessandro ? What did it mean ? 
Carmena’s bosom was heaving with the things she 
longed to say and to ask ; but all she could do was to 
press Ramona’s hand again and again, and occasion- 
ally lay her soft cheek upon it. 

“ How, was it not the saints that put it into my 
head to come to the graveyard ? ” thought Ramona. 
“ What a comfort to this poor heart-broken thing to 
see Alessandro ! And she keeps me from all fear. 
Holy Virgin ! but I had died of terror here all alone. 
Hot that the dead would harm me ; but simply from 
the vast, silent plain, and the gloom.” 

Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they 
would return to the gate. Considerate and thought- 
ful, she remembered that Alessandro would expect to 
find them there. But it was a long and weary watch 
they had, waiting for Alessandro to come. 

After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had 
struck off at a quick run for Hartsel’s, which was 
perhaps an eighth of a mile from the graveyard. His 
own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew 


RAMONA. 


289 


near, lie saw a light in its windows. He stopped as 
if shot. “ A light in our house ! ” he exclaimed ; and 
he clenched his hands. “ Those cursed robbers have 
gone into it to live already!” His blood seemed 
turning to fire. Ramona would not have recognized 
the face of her Alessandro now. It was full of im- 
placable vengeance. Involuntarily he felt for his 
knife. It was gone. His gun he had left inside the 
graveyard, leaning against the. wall. Ah ! in the 
graveyard ! Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting 
for him. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world 
held now but one work, one hope, one passion, for 
him. But he would at least see who were these 
dwellers in his father’s house. A fierce desire to see 
their faces burned within him. Why should he thus 
torture himself ? Why, indeed ? But he must. He 
would see the new home-life already begun on the 
grave of his. Stealthily creeping under the window 
from which the light shone, lie listened. He heard 
children’s voices ; a woman’s voice ; at intervals the 
voice of a man, gruff and surly ; various household 
sounds also. It was evidently the supper-hour. Cau- 
tiously raising himself till his eyes were on a level 
with the lowest panes in the window, he looked in. 

A table was set in the middle of the floor, and 
there were sitting at it a man, woman, and two 
children. The youngest, little more than a baby, 
sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the 
table, impatient for its supper. The room was in 
great confusion, — beds made on the floor, open boxes 
half unpacked, saddles and harness thrown down in 
corners ; evidently there were new-comers into the 
house. The window was open by an inch. It had 
warped, and would not shut down. Bitterly Alessan- 
dro recollected how he had put off from day to day 
the planing of that window to make it shut tight. 
Now, thanks to that crack, he could hear all that 
19 


290 


RAMONA. 


was said. The woman looked weary and worm Her 
face was a sensitive one, and her voice kindly ; but 
the man had the countenance of a brute, — of a hu- 
man brute. Why do we malign the so-called brute 
creation, making their names a unit of comparison 
for base traits which never one of them possessed ? 

“It seems as if I never should get to rights in 
this world ! ” said the woman. Alessandro understood 
enough English to gather the meaning of what she 
said. He listened eagerly. “When will the next 
wagon get here ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” growled her husband. “ There ’s 
been a slide in that cursed canon, and blocked the 
road. They won’t be here for several days yet. 
Hain’t you got stuff enough round now ? If you ’d 
clear up what ’s here now, then ’t would be time 
enough to grumble because you had n’t got every- 
thing” 

“ But, John,” she replied, “I can’t clear up till 
the bureau comes, to put the things away in, and the 
bedsteads. I can’t seem to do anything.” 

“ You can grumble, I take notice,” he answered. 
“That’s about all you women are good for, anyhow. 
There was a first-rate raw-hide bedstead in here. If 
Rothsaker had n’t been such a fool ’s to let those dogs 
of Indians carry off all their truck, we might have 
had that ! ” 

The woman looked at him reproachfully, but did 
not speak for a moment. Then her cheeks flushed, 
and seeming unable to repress the speech, she ex- 
claimed, “ Well, I’m thankful enough he did let the 
poor things take their furniture. I ’d never have slept 
a wink on that bedstead, I know, if it had ha’ been 
left here. It ’s bad enough to take their houses this 
way ! ” 

“ Oh, you shut up your head for a blamed fool, 
will you S ” cried the man. He was half drunk, his 


RAMONA. 


291 


worst and most dangerous state. She glanced at him 
half timorously, half indignantly, and turning to the 
children, began feeding the baby. At that second the 
other child looked up, and catching sight of the out- 
line of Alessandro’s head, cried out, “ There ’s a man 
there ! There, at the window ! ” 

Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground, and 
held his breath. Had he imperilled all, brought 
danger on himself and Ramona, by yielding to this 
mad impulse to look once more inside the walls of 
his home ? With a fearful oath, the half-drunken 
man exclaimed, “ One of those damned Indians, I 
expect. I’ve seen several hangin’ round to-day. 
We ’ll have to shoot two or three of ’em yet, before 
we ’re rid of ’em ! ” and he took his gun down from 
the pegs above the fireplace, and went to the door 
with it in his hand. 

“ Oh, don’t fire, father, don’t ! ” cried the woman. 
“ They ’ll come and murder us all in our sleep if you 
do f Don’t fire ! ” and she pulled him .back .by the 
sleeve. 

Shaking her off, with another oath, he stepped 
across the threshold, and stood listening, and peering 
into the darkness. Alessandro’s heart beat like a 
hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of 
Ramona, he would have sprung on the man, seized 
his gun, and killed him. 

“ I don’t believe it was anybody, after all, father,” 
persisted the woman. “ Bud ’s always seein’ things. 
I don’t believe there was anybody there. Come in ; 
supper’s gettin’ all cold.” 

“ Well, I ’ll jest fire, to let ’em know there ’s powder 
’n shot round here,” said the fiend. “ If it hits any on 
’em roamin’ round, he won’t know what hurt him;” 
and levelling his gun at random, with his drunken, 
unsteady hand he fired. The bullet whistled away 
harmlessly into the empty darkness. Hearkening a 


292 


RAMONA. 


few moments, and hearing no cry, he hiccupped, 
“Mi-i-issed him that time,” and went in to his 
supper. 

Alessandro did not dare to stir for a long time. 
How he cursed his own folly in having brought him- 
self into this plight ! What needless pain of waiting 
he was inflicting on the faithful one, watching for 
him in that desolate and fearful place of graves ! At 
last he ventured, — sliding along on his belly a few 
inches at a time, till, several rods from the house, he 
dared at last to spring to his feet and bound away at 
full speed for Hartsel’s. 

Hartsel’s was one of those mongrel establishments 
to be seen nowhere except in Southern California. 
Half shop, half farm, half tavern, it gathered up to 
itself all the threads of the life of the whole region. 
Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at 
Hartsel’s, drank at Hartsel’s, slept at Hartsel’s. It 
was the only place of its kind within a radius of 
twenty miles ; and it was the least bad place of its 
kind within a much wider radius. 

Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow — when he 
was sober ; but as that condition was not so frequent 
as it should have been, he sometimes came near being 
a very bad fellow indeed. At such times everybody 
was afraid of him, — wife, children, travellers, ranch- 
men, and all. “ It was only a question of time and oc- 
casion,” they said, “Hartsel’s killing somebody sooner 
or later ; ” and it looked as if the time were drawing 
near fast. But, out of his cups, Hartsel was kindly, 
and fairly truthful ; entertaining, too, to a degree which 
held many a wayfarer chained to his chair till small 
hours of the morning, listening to his landlord’s talk. 
How he had drifted from Alsace to San Diego County, 
he could hardly have told in minute detail himself, 
there had been so many stages and phases of the 
strange journey ; but he had come to his last halt now. 


RAMONA. 


293 


Here, in this Temecula, he would lay his bones. 
He liked the country. He liked the wild life, and, 
for a wonder, he liked the Indians. Many a good 
word he spoke for them to travellers who believed no 
good of the race, and evidently listened with polite 
incredulity when he would say, as he often did : “ I ’ve 
never lost a dollar off these Indians yet. They do 
all their trading with me. There ’s some of them I 
trust as high ’s a hundred dollars. If they can’t pay 
this year, they ’ll pay next ; and if they die, their rela- 
tions will pay their debts for them, a little at a time, 
till they ’ve got it all paid off. They ’ll pay in wheat, 
or bring a steer, maybe, or baskets or mats the 
women make ; but they ’ll pay. They ’re honester ’n 
the general run of Mexicans about paying ; I mean 
Mexicans that are as poor ’s they are.” 

Hartsel’s dwelling-house was a long, low adobe 
building, with still lower flanking additions, in which 
were bedrooms for travellers, the kitchen, and store- 
rooms. The shop was a separate building, of rough 
planks, a story and a half high, the loft of which 
was one great dormitory well provided with beds on 
the floor, but with no other article of bedroom furni- 
ture. They who slept in this loft had no fastidious 
standards of personal luxury. These two buildings, 
with some half-dozen out-houses of one sort and an- 
other, stood in an enclosure surrounded by a low white 
picket fence, which gave to the place a certain home- 
like look, spite of the neglected condition of the 
ground, which was bare sand, or sparsely tufted 
with weeds and wild grass. A few plants, parched 
and straggling, stood in pots and tin cans around 
the door of the dwelling-house. One hardly knew 
whether they made the place look less desolate or 
more so. But they were token of a woman’s hand, 
and of a nature which craved something more than 
the unredeemed wilderness around her afforded. 


294 


RAMONA. 


A dull and lurid light streamed out from the wide- 
open door of the store. Alessandro drew cautiously 
near. The place was full of men, and he heard loud 
laughing and talking. He dared not go in. Stealing 
around to the rear, he leaped the fence, and went to 
the other house and opened the kitchen door. Here 
he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartsel had never any but 
Indian servants in her employ. The kitchen was 
lighted only by one dim candle. On the stove* were 
sputtering and hissing all the pots and frying-pans it 
would hold. Much cooking was evidently going on 
for the- men who were noisily rollicking in the other 
house. 

Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In 
a few moments Mrs. Hartsel came hurrying back to 
her work. It was no uncommon experience to find 
an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim 
light she did not recognize Alessandro, but mis- 
took him, as he sat bowed over, his head in his 
hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort of recognized 
hanger-on of the place, earning his living there by 
odd jobs of fetching and carrying, and anything else 
he could do. 

“ Run, Ramon,” she said, “ and bring me more 
wood; this cottonwood is so dry, it burns out like 
rotten punk ; I ’m off my feet to-night, with all these 
men to cook for ; ” then turning to the table, she began 
cutting her bread, and did not see how tall and unlike 
Ramon was the man who silently rose and went out 
to do her bidding. When, a few moments later, Ales- 
sandro re-entered, bringing a huge armful of wood, 
which it would have cost poor old Ramon three 
journeys at least to bring, and throwing it down, 
on the hearth, said, “Will that be enough, Mrs. 
Hartsel ? ” she gave a scream of surprise, and dropped 
her knife. “ Why, who — ” she began ; then, seeing 
his face, her own lighting up with pleasure, she con- 


RAMONA. 


295 


tinued, “ Alessandro ! Is it you ? Why, I took you 
in the dark for old Ramon ! I thought you were in 
Pachanga.” 

“ In Pachanga ! ” Then as yet no one had come 
from the Senora Moreno’s to Hartsel’s in search of 
him and the Senorita .Ramona ! Alessandro’s heart 
felt almost light in his bosom. From the one imme- 
diate danger he had dreaded, they were safe ; but no 
trace of emotion showed on his face, and he did not 
raise his eyes as he replied : “ I have been in Pachanga. 
My father is dead. I have buried him there.” 

“ Oh, Alessandro ! Did he die ?” cried the kindly 
woman, coming close to Alessandro, and laying her 
hand on his shoulder. “ I heard he was sick.” She 
paused ; she did not know what to say. She had suf- 
fered so at the time of the ejectment of the Indians, 
that it had made her ill. For two days she had kept 
her doors shut and her windows close curtained, that 
she need not see the terrible sights. She was not a 
woman of many words. She was a Mexican, but there 
were those who said that some Indian blood ran in her 
veins. This was not improbable ; and it seemed more 
than ever probable now, as she stood still by Ales- 
sandro’s side, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes fixed 
in distress on his face. How he had altered ! How 
well she recollected his lithe figure, his alert motion, 
his superb bearing, his handsome face, when she last 
saw him. in the spring ! 

“ You were away all summer, Alessandro ? ” she 
said at last, turning back to her work. 

“ Yes,” he said ; “ at the Senora Moreno’s.” 

“ So I heard,” she said. “ That is a fine great place, 
is it not ? Is her son grown a fine man ? He was a 
lad when I saw him. He went through here with 
a drove of sheep once.” 

“Ay, he is a man now,” said Alessandro, and 
buried liis face in his hands again. 


296 


RAMONA. 


“ Poor fellow ! I don’t wonder he does not want 
to speak,” thought Mrs. Hartsel. “ I ’ll just let him 
alone ; ” and she spoke no more for some moments. 

Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy 
seemed to have seized him ; at last he said wearily : 
“ I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr. Hartsel 
a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store.” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ a lot of San Francisco men ; 
they belong to the company that ’s coming in here in 
the valley ; they ’ve been here two days. Oh, Ales- 
sandro,” she continued, bethinking herself, “ Jim ’s 
got your violin here; Jose brought it.” 

“Yes, I know it,” answered Alessandro. “Jose 
told me ; and that was one thing I stopped for.” 

“ 1 11 run and get it,” she exclaimed. 

“ No,” said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. “ I 
do not want it. I thought Mr. Hartsel might buy 
it. I want some money. It was not mine ; it was 
my father’s. It is a great deal better than mine. 
My father said it would bring a great deal of money. 
It is very old.” 

“ Indeed it is,” she replied ; “ one of those men in 
there was looking at it last night. He was astonished 
at it, and he would not believe Jim when he told 
him about its having come from the Mission.” 

“ Does he play ? Will he buy it ? ” cried Ales- 
sandro. 

“ I don’t know ; I ’ll call Jim,” she said ; and run- 
ning out she looked in at the other door, saying, 
“ Jim ! Jim ! ” 

Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her 
first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into 
an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to 
the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all dis- 
guises, “ Jim ’s drunk. Ho use your talking to him 
to-night. Wait till morning.” 

“ Till morning!” A groan escaped from Ales- 


RAMONA. 297 

sandro, in spite of himself. “ I can’t ! ” he cried. “ I 
must go on to-night.” 

“ Why, what for ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much 
astonished. For one brief second Alessandro re- 
volved in his mind the idea of confiding everything 
to her ; only for a second, however. No ; the £ewer 
knew his secret and Eamona’s, the better. 

“ I must be in San Diego to-morrow,” he said. 

“ Got work there ? ” she said. 

“ Yes ; that is, in San Pasquale,” he said ; “ and I 
ought to have been there three days ago.” 

Mrs. Hartsel mused. “Jim can’t do anything 
to-night,” she said ; “ that ’s certain. You might see 
the man yourself, and ask him if he ’d buy it.” 

Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repug- 
nance withheld him. He could not face one of these 
Americans who were “ coming in ” to his valley. 
Mrs. Hartsel understood. 

“ I ’ll tell you, Alessandro,” said the kindly woman, 
“ I ’ll give you what money you need to-night, and 
then, if you say so, Jim ’ll sell the violin to-morrow, 
if that man wants it, and you can pay me back out of 
that, and when you ’re along this w r ay again you can 
have the rest. Jim ’ll make as good a trade for you 
*s he can. He ’s a real good friend to all of you, 
Alessandro, when he ’s himself.” 

“ I know it, Mrs. Hartsel. I ’d trust Mr. Hartsel 
more than any other man in this country,” said 
Alessandro. “ He ’s about the only white man I do 
trust ! ” 

Mrs. Hartsel was fumbling in a deep pocket in 
her under-petticoat. Gold-piece after gold-piece she 
drew out. “ Humph ! Got more ’n I thought I had,” 
she said. “ I ’ve kept all that ’s been paid in here to- 
day, for I knew Jim ’d be drunk before night.” 

Alessandro’s eyes fastened on the gold. How he 
longed for an abundance of those little shining pieces 


298 


RAMONA. 


for his Majella ! He sighed as Mrs. Hartsel counted 
them out on the table, — one, two, three, four, bright 
five-dollar pieces. 

“ That is as much as I dare take” said Alessandro, 
when she put down the fourth. “ Will you trust me 
for so much ? ” he added sadly. “ You know I have 
nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, 
till I get some work to do.” 

The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel’s eyes. “ It ’s a 
shame ! ” she said, — “a shame, Alessandro ! Jim and 
I have n’t thought of anything else, since it happened. 
Jim says they ’ll never prosper, never. Trust you ? 
Yes, indeed. Jim and I ’ll trust you, or your father, 
the last day of our lives.” 

“ I ’m glad he is dead,” said Alessandro, as he 
knotted the gold into his handkerchief and put it 
into his bosom. “ But he was murdered, Mrs. Hart- 
sel, — murdered, just as much as if they had fired a 
bullet into him.” 

“ That s true ! ” she exclaimed vehemently. “ I say 
so too ; and so was Jose. That ’s just what I said at 
the time, — that bullets would not be half so inhu- 
man ! ” 

The words had hardly left her lips, when the door 
from the dining-room burst open, and a dozen men, 
headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laugh- 
ing, reeling into the kitchen. 

“ Where ’s supper ! Give us our supper ! What are 
you about with your Indian here ? I ’ll teach you 
how to cook ham!” stammered Jim, making a lurch 
towards the stove. The men behind caught him and 
saved him. Eying the group with slow scorn, Mrs. 
Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in her body, 
said: “Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at 
the table, I will bring in your supper immediately. 
It is all ready.” 

One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone. 


RAMONA. 


299 


led the rest back into the dining-room, where, seat- 
ing themselves, they began to pound the table and 
swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs. 

“ Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro,” whis- 
pered Mrs. Hartsel, as she passed by him, standing 
like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred and contempt, 
fixed on the tipsy group. “ You ’d better go. There ’s 
no knowing what they ’ll do next.” 

“ Are you not afraid ? ” he said in a low tone. 

“ No ! ” she said. “ I ’m used to it. I can always 
manage Jim. And Ramon’s round somewhere, — he 
and the bull-pups ; if worse comes to worst, I can 
call the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are 
always the worst to get drunk. But you’d better 
get out of the way !” . 

“And these are the men that have stolen our 
lands, and killed my father, and Josd, and Carmena’s 
baby ! ” thought Ale'ssandro, as he ran swiftly back 
towards the graveyard. “And Father Salvierderra 
says, God is good. It must be the saints no longer 
pray to Him for us!” 

But Alessandro’s heart was too full of other 
thoughts, now, to dwell long on past wrongs, how- 
ever bitter. The present called him too loudly. 
Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, 
knotted handkerchief, he thought : “ Twenty dollars ! 
It is not much ! But it will buy food for many days 
for my Majella and for Baba!” 


XVIII. 


XCEPT for the reassuring help of Carmena’s 



JLLi presence by her side, Ramona would never have 
had courage to remain during this long hour in the 
graveyard. As it was, she twice resolved to bear 
the suspense no longer, and made a movement to go. 
The chance of Alessandro’s encountering at Hartsel’s 
the men sent in pursuit of him and of Baba, loomed 
in her thoughts into a more and more frightful danger 
each moment she reflected upon it. It was a most 
unfortunate suggestion for Alessandro to have made. 
Her excited fancy went on arid on, picturing the 
possible scenes which might be going on almost 
within stone’s-throw of where she was sitting, help- 
less, in the midnight darkness, — Alessandro seized, 
tied, treated as a thief, and she, Ramona, not there 
to vindicate him, to terrify the men into letting him 
go. She could not bear it ; she would ride boldly to 
Hartsel’s door. But when she made a motion as if 
she would go, and said in the soft Spanish, of which 
Carmena knew no word, but which yet somehow con- 
veyed Ramona’s meaning, “ I must go ! It is too long ! 
I cannot wait here !” Carmena had clasped her hand 
tighter, and said in the San Luiseno tongue, of which 
Ramona knew no jvord, but which yet somehow con- 
veyed Carmena’s meaning, “ 0 beloved lady, you 
must not go ! Waiting is the only safe thing. Ales- 
sandro said, to w T ait here. He will come.” The word 
“ Alessandro ” was plain. Yes, Alessandro had said, 
wait ; Carmena was right. She would obey, but it was 
a fearful ordeal. It was strange how Ramona, who 


RAMONA. 


301 


felt herself preternaturally brave, afraid of nothing, 
so long as Alessandro was by her side, became timor- 
ous and wretched the instant he was lost to her sight. 
When she first heard his steps coming, she quivered 
with terror lest they might not be his. The next sec- 
ond she knew; and with a glad cry, “Alessandro ! Ales- 
sandro ! ” she bounded to him, dropping Baba’s reins. 

Sighing gently, Carmena picked up the reins, and 
stood still, holding the horse, while the lovers clasped 
each other with breathless words. “ How she loves 
Alessandro ! ” thought the widowed Carmena. “ Will 
they leave him alive to stay with her ? It is better 
not to love ! ” But there was no bitter envy in her 
mind for the two who were thus blest while she went 
desolate. All of Pablo’s people had great affection for 
Alessandro. They had looked forward to his being 
over them in his father’s place. They knew his 
goodness, and were proud of his superiority to 
themselves. 

“Majella, you tremble,” said Alessandro, as he 
threw his arms around her. “ You have feared ! Yet 
you were not alone.” He glanced at Carmena’s mo- 
tionless figure, standing by Baba. 

“No, not alone, dear Alessandro; but it was so 
long ! ” replied Bamona ; “ and I feared the men had 
taken you, as you feared. Was there any one there ? ” 

“No ! No one had heard anything. All was well. 
They thought I had just come from Pachanga,” he 
answered. 

“Except for Carmena, I should have ridden after 
you half an hour ago,” continued Bamona. “ But she 
told me to wait.” 

' “ She told you ! ” repeated Alessandro. “ How did 
you understand her speech ? ” 

“ I do not know. Was it not a strange thing ? ” 
replied Bamona. “ She spoke in your tongue, but I 
thought I understood her. Ask her if she did not 


302 


RAMONA. 


say that I must not go ; that it was safer to wait ; that 
you had so said, and you would soon come.” 

Alessandro repeated the words to Carmena. “ Did 
you say that ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” answered Carmena. 

“You see, then, she has understood the Luiseno 
words,” he said delightedly. “ She is one of us.” 

“ Yes,” said Carmena, gravely, “ she is one of us ! ” 
Then, taking Ramona’s hand in both of her own for 
farewell, she repeated, in a tone as of dire prophecy, 
“ One of us, Alessandro ! one of us ! ” And as she 
gazed after their retreating forms, almost immediately 
swallowed and lost in the darkness, she repeated the 
words again to herself, — “ One of us ! one of us ! 
Sorrow came to me ; she rides to meet it ! ” and she 
crept back to her husband’s grave, and threw herself 
down, to watch till the dawn. 

The road which Alessandro would naturally have 
taken would carry them directly by Hartsel’s again. 
But, wishing to avoid all risk of meeting or being 
seen by any of the men on the place, he struck well 
out to the north, to make a wide circuit around it. 
This brought them past the place where Antonio’s 
house had stood. Here Alessandro halted, and put- 
ting his hand oh Baba’s rein, walked the horses close to 
the pile of ruined walls. “ This was Antonio’s house, 
Majella,” he whispered. “I wish every house in the 
valley had been pulled down like this. Old Juana 
was right. The Americans are living in my father’s 
house, Majella,” he went on, his whisper growing 
thick with rage. “ That was what kept me so long. I 
was looking in at the window at them eating their sup- 
per. I thought I should go mad, Majella. If I had 
had my gun, I should have shot them all dead ! ” 

An almost inarticulate gasp was Ramona’s first 
reply to this. “Living in your house!” she said. 
“ You saw them .? ” 


RAMONA. 


303 


“Yes,” he said; “the man, and his wife, and two 
little children ; and the man came out, with his gun, 
on the doorstep, and fired it. They thought they 
heard something moving, and it might be an Indian ; 
so he fired. That was what kept me so long.” 

J ust at this moment Baba tripped over some small 
object on the ground. A few steps farther, and he 
tripped again. “ There is something caught round his 
foot, Alessandro,” said Ramona. “ It keeps moving.” 

Alessandro jumped off his horse, and kneeling 
down, exclaimed, “ It ’s a stake, — and the lariat fas- 
ened to it. Holy Virgin! what — ” The rest of his 
ejaculation was inaudible. The next Ramona knew, 
he had run swiftly on, a rod or two. Baba had fol- 
lowed, and Capitan and the pony ; and there stood a 
splendid black horse, as big as Baba, and Alessandro 
talking under his breath to him, and clapping both his 
hands over the horse’s nose, to stop him, as often as 
he began whinnying ; and it seemed hardly a second 
more before he had his saddle off the poor little 
Indian pony, and striking it sharply on its sides had 
turned it free, had saddled the black horse, and leap- 
ing on his back, said, with almost a sob in his voice : 
“ My Majella, it is Benito, my own Benito. How the 
saints indeed have helped us ! Oh, the ass, the idiot, 
to stake out Benito with such a stake as that ! A jack 
rabbit had pulled it up. How, my Majella, we will 
gallop ! Faster ! faster ! I will not breathe easy till 
we are out of this cursed valley. When we are onc£ 
in the Santa Margarita Canon, I know a trail they 
will never find ! ” 

Like the wind galloped Benito, — Alessandro half 
lying on his back, stroking his forehead, whispering to 
him, the horse snorting with joy : which were gladder 
of the two, horse or man, could not be said. And 
neck by neck with Benito ct me Baba. How the 
ground flew away under their leet ! This was com- 


304 


RAMONA. 


panionship, indeed, worthy of Baba’s best powers. 
Not in all the California herds could be found two 
superber horses than Benito and Baba. A wild, 
almost reckless joy took possession of Alessandro. 
Ramona was half terrified as she heard him still 
talking, talking to Benito. For an hour they did not 
draw rein. Both Benito and Alessandro knew every 
inch of the ground. Then, just as they had descended 
into the deepest part of the canon, Alessandro sud- 
denly reined sharply to the left, and began climbing 
the precipitous wall. “ Can you follow, dearest 
Majella?” he cried. 

“Do you suppose Benito can do anything that 
Baba cannot ? ” she retorted, pressing on closely. 

But Baba did not like it. .Except for the stimu- 
lus of Benito ahead, he would have given Ramona 
trouble. 

“ There is only a little, rough like this, dear,” called 
Alessandro, as he leaped a fallen tree, and halted to 
see how Baba took it. “ Good ! ” he cried, as Baba 
jumped it like a deer. “Good! Majella! We have 
got the two best horses in the country. You ’ll see 
they are alike, when daylight comes. I have often 
wondered they were so much alike. They would go 
together splendidly.” 

After a few rods of this steep climbing they came 
out on the top of the canon’s south wall, in a 
flense oak forest comparatively free from underbrush. 
“ Now,” said Alessandro, “ I can go from here to San 
Diego by paths that no white man knows. We will 
be near there before daylight.” 

Already the keen salt air of the ocean smote their 
faces. Ramona drank it in with delight. “I taste 
salt in the air, Alessandro,” she cried. 

“ Yes, it is the sea,” he said. “This cafion leads 
straight to the sea. I wish we could go by the shore, 
Majella. It is beautiful there. When it is still, the 


RAMONA. 


305 


waves come as gently to the land as if they were in 
play ; and you can ride along with your horse’s feet 
in the water, and the green cliffs almost over your 
head ; and the air off the water is like wine in one’s 
head.” 

“ Cannot we go there ? ” she said longingly. 
“Would it not be safe ? ” 

“ I dare not,” he answered regretfully. “ Not 
now, Majella ; for on the shore-way, at all times, 
there are people going and coming.” 

“ Some other time, Alessandro, we can come, after 
we are married, and there is no danger?” she asked. 

“Yes, Majella,” he replied; but as he spoke the 
words, he thought, “ Will a time ever come when there 
will be no danger ? ” 

The shore of the Pacific Ocean for many miles north 
of San Diego is a succession of rounding promon- 
tories, walling the mouths of canons, down many of 
which small streams make to the sea. These canons 
are green and rich at bottom, and filled with trees, 
chiefly oak. Beginning as little more than rifts in the 
ground, they deepen and widen, till at their mouths 
they have a beautiful crescent of shining beach from 
an eighth to a quarter of a mile long. The one 
which Alessandro hoped to reach before morning was 
not a dozen miles from the old town of San Diego, 
and commanded a fine view of the outer harbor. 
When he was last in it, he had found it a nearly 
impenetrable thicket of young oak-trees. Here, he 
believed, they could hide safely all day, and after 
nightfall ride into San Diego, be married at the 
priest’s house, and push on to San Pasquale that 
same night. “All day, in that canon, Majella can 
look at the sea,” he thought ; “ but I will not tell her 
now, for it may be the trees have been cut down, and 
we cannot be so close to the shore.” 

It was near sunrise when they reached the place. 

20 


306 


RAMONA. 


The trees had not been cut down. Their tops, seen 
from above, looked like a solid bed of moss filling in 
the canon bottom. The sky and the sea were both 
red. As Ramona looked down into this soft green 
pathway, it seemed, leading out to the wide and 
sparkling sea, she thought Alessandro had brought 
her into a fairy-land. 

“What a beautiful world!” she cried; and riding 
up so close to Benito that she could lay her hand on 
Alessandro’s, she said solemnly : “ Do you not think 
we ought to be very happy, Alessandro, in such a 
beautiful world as this ? Do you think we might 
sing our sunrise hymn here ? ” 

Alessandro glanced around. They were alone on 
the breezy open ; it was not yet full dawn ; great 
masses of crimson vapor were floating upward from 
the hills behind San Diego. The light was still burn- 
ing in the light-house on the promontory walling the 
inner harbor, but in a few moments more it would be 
day. “No, Majella, not here !” he said. “We must 
not stay. As soon as the sun rises, a man or a horse 
may be seen on this upper coast-line as far as eye 
can reach. We must be among the trees with all 
the speed we can make.” 

It was like a house with a high, thick roof of oak 
tree-tops, the shelter they found. No sun penetrated 
it ; a tiny trickle of water still remained, and some 
grass along its rims was still green, spite of the long 
drought, — a scanty meal for Baba and Benito, but 
they ate it with relish in each other’s company. 

“They like each other, those two,” said Ramona, 
laughing, as she watched them. “ They will be 
friends.” 

“ Ay,” said Alessandro, also smiling. “ Horses are 
friends, like men, and can hate each other, like men, 
too. Benito would never see Antonio’s mare, the 
little yellow one, that he did not let fly his heels at 


RAMONA. 307 

her ; and she was as afraid, at sight of him, as a cat is 
at a dog. Many a time I have laughed to see it.” 

“ Know you the priest at San Diego ? ” asked 
Ramona. 

“Not well,” replied Alessandro. “ He came seldom 
to Temecula when I was there ; but he is a friend of 
Indians. I know he came with the men from San 
Diego at the time when there was fighting, and the 
whites were in great terror ; and they said, except for 
Father Gaspara’s words, there would not have been a 
white man left alive in Pala. My father had sent all 
his people away before that fight began. He knew it 
was coming, but he would have nothing to do with 
it. He said the Indians were all crazy. It was no 
use. They would only be killed themselves. That 
is the worst thing, my Majella. The stupid Indians 
fight and kill, and then what can we do ? The white 
men think w r e are all the same. Father Gaspara has 
never been to Pala, I heard, since that time. There 
goes there now the San Juan Capistrano priest. He 
is a bad man. He takes money from the starving 
poor.” . 

“ A priest ! ” ejaculated Ramona, horror-stricken. 

“ Ay ! a priest ! ” replied Alessandro. “ They are 
not all good, — not like Father Salvierderra.” 

“ Oh, if we could but have gone to Father Salvier- 
derra ! ” exclaimed Ramona, involuntarily. 

Alessandro looked distressed. “ It would have 
been much more danger, Majella,” he said, “ and I had 
no knowledge of work I could do there.” 

His look made Ramona remorseful at once. How 
cruel to lay one feather-weight of additional burden 
on this loving man ! “ Oh, this is much better, 

really,” she said. “ I did not mean what I said. It 
is only because I have always loved Father Salvier- 
derra so. And the Senora will tell him what is not 
true. Could we not send him a letter, Alessandro ? ” 


308 


RAMONA. 


“ There is a Santa Inez Indian I know,” replied 
Alessandro, “who comes down with nets to sell, 
sometimes, to Temecula. I know not if he goes to 
San Diego. If I could get speech with him, he would 
go up from Santa Inez to Santa Barbara for me, I 
am sure ; for once he lay in my father’s house, sick 
for many weeks, and I nursed him, and since then 
he is always begging me to take a net from him, 
whenever he comes. It is not two days from Santa 
Inez to Santa Barbara.” 

“ I wish it were the olden time now, Alessandro,” 
sighed Ramona, “ when the men like Father Salvier- 
derra had all the country. Then there would be work 
for all, at the Missions. The Senora says the Missions 
were like palaces, and that there were thousands of 
Indians in every one of them; thousands and thou- 
sands, all working so happy and peaceful.” 

“ The Senora does not know all that happened at 
the Missions,” replied Alessandro. “ My father says 
that at some of them were dreadful things, when bad 
men had power. Never any such things at San Luis 
Bey. Father Peyri was like a father to all his* Indians. 
My father says that they would all of them lie down 
in a fire for him, if he had commanded it. And 
when he went away, to leave the country, when his 
heart was broken, and the Mission all ruined, he 
had to fly by night, Majella, just as you and I have 
done ; for if the Indians had known it, they would 
have risen up to keep him. There was a ship here in 
San Diego harbor, to sail for Mexico, and the Father 
made up his mind to go in it ; and it was over this 
same road we have come, my Majella, that he rode, 
and by night ; and my father was the only one he 
trusted to know it. My father came with him ; they 
took the swiftest horses, and they rode all night, and 
my father carried in front of him, on the horse, a box 
of the sacred things of the altar, very heavy. And 


RAMONA. 


309 


many a time my father has told me the story, how 
they got to San Diego at daybreak, and the Father 
was rowed out to the ship in a little boat ; and not 
much more than on board was he, my father stand- 
ing like, one dead on the shore, watching, he loved 
him so, when, lo ! he heard a great crying, and 
shouting, and trampling of horses’ feet, and there 
came galloping down to the water’s edge three 
hundred of the Indians from San Luis Key, who had 
found out that the Father had gone to San Diego to 
take ship, and they had ridden all night on his track, 
to fetch him back. And when my father pointed to 
the ship, and told them he was already on board, 
they set up a cry fit to bring the very sky down ; 
and some of them flung themselves into the sea, and 
swam out to the ship, and cried and begged to be 
taken on board and go with him. And Father Peyri 
stood on the deck, blessing them, and saying fare- 
well, with the tears running on his face ; and one of 
the Indians — how they never knew — made shift 
to climb up on the chains and ropes, and got into the 
ship itself ; and they let him stay, and he sailed away 
with the Father. And my father said he was all his 
life sorry that he himself had not thought to do the 
same thing ; but he was like one dumb and deaf and 
with no head, he was so unhappy at the Father’s 
going.” 

“ Was it here, in this very harbor ? ” asked Ramona, 
in breathless interest, pointing out towards the blue 
water of which they could see a broad belt framed 
by their leafy foreground arch of oak tops. 

“Ay, just there he sailed, — as that ship goes 
now,” he exclaimed, as a white-sailed schooner sailed 
swiftly by, going out to sea. “ But the ship lay at 
first inside the bar ; you cannot see the inside har- 
bor from here. It is the most beautiful water I have 
ever seen, Majella. The two high lands come out 


310 


RAMONA. 


like two arms to hold it and keep it safe, as if they 
loved it.” 

“ But, Alessandro,” continued Ramona, “ were there 
really bad men at the other Missions ? Surely not the 
Franciscan Fathers ? ” 

“ Perhaps not the Fathers themselves, but the men 
under them. It was too much power, Majella. When 
my father has told me how it was, it has seemed to 
me I should not have liked to be as he was. It is 
not right that one man should have so much power. 
There was one at the San Gabriel Mission ; he was 
an Indian. He had been set over the rest ; and when 
a whole band of them ran away one time, and went 
back into the mountains, he went after them ; and he 
brought back a piece of each man’s ear ; the pieces 
were strung on a string ; and he laughed, and said 
that was to know them by again, — by their clipped 
ears. An old woman, a Gabrieleno, who came over to 
Temecula, told me she saw that. She lived at the 
Mission herself. The Indians did not all want to 
come to the Missions ; some of them preferred to stay 
in the woods, and live as they always had lived ; and 
I think they had a right to do that if they preferred, 
Majella. It was stupid of them to stay and be like 
beasts, and not know anything ; but do you not think 
they had the right ? ” 

“ It is the command to preach the gospel to every 
creature,” replied the pious Ramona. “That is what 
Father Salvierderra said was the reason the Francis- 
cans came here. I think they ought to have made 
the Indians listen. But that was dreadful about the 
ears, Alessandro. Do you believe it ? ” 

“The old woman laughed when she told it,” he 
answered. “She said it was a joke; so I think it 
was true. I know I would have killed the man who 
tried to crop my ears that way.” 

“ Did you ever tell that to Father Salvierderra ? ” 
asked Ramona. 


RAMONA. 


311 


“No, Majella. It would not be polite,” said 
Alessandro. 

“Well, I don’t believe it,” replied Bamona, in a 
relieved tone. “ I don’t believe any Franciscan ever 
could have permitted such things.” 

The great red light in the light-house tower had 
again blazed out, and had been some time burning, 
before Alessandro thought it prudent to resume their 
journey. The road on which they must go into old 
San Diego, where Father Gaspara lived, was the public 
road from San Diego to San Luis Key, and they were 
almost sure to meet travellers on it. * 

But their fleet horses bore them so well, that it 
was not late when they reached the town. Father 
Gaspara’ s house was at the end of a long, low adobe 
building, which had served no mean purpose in the 
old Presidio days, but was now fallen into decay ; and 
all its rooms, except those occupied by the Father, had 
been long uninhabited. On the opposite side of the 
way, in a neglected, weedy open, stood his chapel, — 
a poverty-stricken little place, its walls imperfectly 
whitewashed, decorated by a few coarse pictures and 
by broken sconces of looking-glass, rescued in their 
dilapidated condition from the Mission buildings 
now gone utterly to ruin.- In these had been put 
candle-holders of common tin, in which a few cheap 
candles dimly lighted the room. Everything about it 
was in unison with the atmosphere of the place, — the 
most profoundly melancholy in all Southern Califor- 
nia. Here was the spot where that grand old Fran- 
ciscan, Padre Junipero Serra, began his work, full of the 
devout and ardent purpose to reclaim the wilderness 
and its peoples to his country and his Church ; on this 
very beach he went up and down for those first 
terrible weeks, nursing the sick, praying with the 
dying, and burying the dead, from the pestilence- 
stricken Mexican ships lying in the harbor. Here he 


312 


RAMONA. 


baptized his first Indian converts, and founded his 
first Mission. And the only traces now remaining of 
his heroic labors and hard-won successes were a pile 
of crumbling ruins, a few old olive-trees and palms ; 
in less than another century even these would be 
gone ; returned into the keeping of that mother, the 
earth, who puts no headstones at the sacredest of her 
graves. 

Father Gaspara had been for many years at San 
Diego. Although not a Franciscan, having, indeed, no 
especial love for the order, he had been from the first 
deeply impressed by the holy associations of the^lace. 
He had a nature at once fiery and poetic ; there were 
but three things he could have been, — a soldier, a poet, 
or a priest. Circumstances had made him a priest ; 
and the fire and the poetry which would have wielded 
the sword or kindled the verse, had he found himself 
set either to fight or to sing, had all gathered into 
added force in his priestly vocation. The look of a 
soldier he had never quite lost, — neither the look 
nor the tread ; and his flashing dark eyes, heavy 
black hair and beard, and quick elastic step, seemed 
sometimes strangely out of harmony with his priest’s 
gown. And it was the sensitive soul of the poet in 
him which had made him withdraw within himself 
more and more, year after year, as he found himself 
comparatively powerless to do anything for the hun- 
dreds of Indians that he would fain have seen gathered 
once more, as of old, into the keeping of the Church. 
He had made frequent visits to them in their shifting 
refuges, following up family after family, band after 
band, that he knew ; he had written bootless letter 
after letter to the Government officials of one sort and 
another, at Washington. He had made equally boot- 
less efforts to win some justice, some protection for 
them, from officials nearer home ; he had endeavored 
to stir the Church itself to greater efficiency in their 


RAMONA. 


313 


behalf. Finally, weary, disheartened, and indignant 
with that intense, suppressed indignation which the 
poetic temperament alone can feel, he had ceased, — 
had said, “ It is of no use ; I will speak no word ; I am 
done ; I can bear no more ! ” and settling down into 
the routine of his parochial duties to the little Mexi- 
can and Irish congregation of his charge in San Diego, 
he had abandoned all effort to do more for the Indians 
than visit their chief settlements once or twice a year, 
to administer the sacraments. When fresh outrages 
were brought to his notice, he paced his room, plucked 
fiercely at liis black beard, with ejaculations, it is to be 
"feared, savoring more of the camp than the altar ; but 
he made no effort to do anything. Lighting his pipe, 
he would sit down on the old bench in his tile-paved 
veranda, and smoke by the hour, gazing out on the 
placid water of the deserted harbor, brooding, ever 
brooding, over the wrongs he could not redress. 

A few paces off from his door stood the just begun 
walls of a fine brick church, which it had been the 
dream and pride of his heart to see builded, and full of 
worshippers. This, too, had failed. With San Diego’s 
repeatedly vanishing hopes and dreams of prosperity 
had gone this hope and dream of Father Gaspara’s. It 
looked, now, as if it would be indeed a waste of money 
to build a costly church on this site. Sentiment, 
however sacred and loving towards the dead, must 
yield to the demands of the living. To build a church 
on the ground where Father Junipero first trod and 
labored, would be a work to which no Catholic could 
be indifferent ; but there were other and more press- 
ing claims to be met first. This was right. Yet the 
sight of these silent walls, only a few feet high, was 
a sore one to Father Gaspara, — a daily cross, which 
he did not find grow lighter as he paced up and down 
his veranda, year in and year out, in the balmy winter 
and cool summer of that magic climate. 


314 


RAMONA. 


" Majella, the chapel is lighted ; but that is good ! ” 
exclaimed Alessandro, as they rode into the silent 
plaza. “ Father Gaspara must be there;” and jump- 
ing off his horse, he peered in at the uncurtained 
window. “ A marriage, Majella, — a marriage ! ” he 
cried, hastily returning. “ This, too, is good fortune. 
We need not to wait long.” 

When the sacristan whispered to Father Gaspara 
that an Indian couple had just come in, wishing to be 
married, the Father frowned. His supper was waiting; 
he had been out all day, over at the old Mission olive- 
orchard, where he had not found things to his mind ; 
the Indian man and wife whom he hired to take care 
of the few acres the Church yet owned there had 
been neglecting the Church lands and trees, to look 
after their own. 'The father was vexed, tired, and 
hungry, and the expression with which he regarded 
Alessandro and Ramona, as they came towards him, 
was one of the least prepossessing of which his dark 
face was capable. Ramona, who had never knelt to any 
priest save the gentle Father Salvierderra, and who 
had supposed that all priests must look, at least, 
friendly, was shocked at the sight of the impatient 
visage confronting her. But, as his first glance fell 
on Ramona, Father Gaspara’s expression changed. 

“ What is all this ! ” he thought ; and as quick as he 
thought it, he exclaimed, in a severe tone, looking at 
Ramona, "Woman, are you an Indian ?” 

“ Yes, Father,” answered Ramona, gently. " My 
mother was an Indian.” 

“ Ah ! half-breed ! ” thought Father Gaspara. " It 
is strange how sometimes one of the types will con- 
quer, and sometimes another ! But this is no common 
creature ;” and it was with a look of new interest and 
sympathy on his face that he proceeded with the 
ceremony, — the other couple, a middle-aged Irish- 
man, with his more than middle-aged bride, standing 


RAMONA. 


315 


quietly by, and looking on with a vague sort of won- 
der in their ugly, impassive faces, as if it struck them 
oddly that Indians should marry. 

The book of the marriage-records was kept in 
Father Gaspara’s own rooms, locked up and hidden 
even from his old housekeeper. He had had bitter 
reason to take this precaution. It had been for more 
than one man’s interest to cut leaves out of this old 
record, which dated back to 1769 , and had many 
pages written full in the hand of Father Junipero 
himself. 

As they came out of the chapel, Father Gaspara 
leading the way, the Irish couple shambling along 
shamefacedly apart from each other, Alessandro, still 
holding Ramona’s hand in his, said, “Will you ride, 
dear ? ’ It is but a step.” 

“ No, thanks, dear Alessandro, I would rather walk,” 
she replied ; and Alessandro slipping the bridles of the 
two horses over his left arm, they walked on. Father 
Gaspara heard the question and answer, and was still 
more puzzled. 

“ He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady,” he 
mused. “ What does it mean ? Who are they ? ” 

Father Gaspara was a well-born man, and in his 
home in Spain had been used to associations far 
superior to any which he had known in his Califor- 
nian life. A gentle courtesy of tone and speech, such 
as that with which Alessandro had addressed Ramona, 
was not often heard in his parish. When they entered 
his house, he again regarded them both attentively. 
Ramona wore on her head the usual black shawl of 
the Mexican women. There was nothing distinctive, 
to the Father’s eye, in her figure or face. In the dim 
light of the one candle, — Father Gaspara allowed 
himself no luxuries, — the exquisite coloring of her 
skin and the deep blue of her eyes were not to be 
seem Alessandro’s tall figure and dignified bearing 


316 


RAMONA. 


were not uncommon. The Father had seen many as 
fine-looking Indian men. But his voice was remark- 
able, and he spoke better Spanish than was wont to 
be heard from Indians. 

“ Where are you from ?” said the Father, as he held 
his pen poised in hand, ready to write their names in 
the old raw-hide-bound book. 

“ Temecula, Father,” replied Alessandro. 

Father Gaspara dropped his pen. “ The village the 
Americans drove out the other day ?” he cried. 

“Yes, Father.” 

Father Gaspara sprang from his chair, took refuge 
from his excitement, as usual, in pacing the floor. 
“ Go ! go ! I ’m done with you ! It ’s all over,” he 
said fiercely to the Irish bride and groom, who had 
given him their names and their fee, but were still 
hanging about irresolute, not knowing if all were 
ended or not. “A burning shame! The most das- 
tardly thing I have seen yet in this land forsaken of 
God ! ” cried the Father. “ I saw the particulars of 
it in the San Diego paper yesterday.” Then, coming 
to a halt in front of Alessandro, he exclaimed : “ The 
paper said that the Indians were compelled to pay all 
the costs of the suit ; that the sheriff took their cattle 
to do it. Was that true ?” 

“ Yes, Father,” replied Alessandro. 

The Father strode up and down again, plucking at 
his beard. “ What are you going to do ? ” he said. 
“ Where have you all gone ? There were two hundred 
in your village the last time I was there.” 

“Some have gone over into Pachanga,” replied 
Alessandro, “ some to San Pasquale, and the rest to 
San Bernardino.” 

“ Body of Jesus ! man ! But you take it with 
philosophy ! ” stormed Father Gaspara. 

Alessandro did not understand the word “ philoso- 
phy,” but he knew what the Father meant. “ Yes, 


RAMONA. 


317 


Father,” he said doggedly. “It is now twenty-one 
days ago. I was not so at first. There is nothing 
to be done.” 

Eamona held tight to Alessandro’s hand. She was 
afraid of this fierce, black-bearded priest, who dashed 
back and forth, pouring out angry invectives. 

“ The United States Government will suffer for it ! ” 
he continued. “ It is a Government of thieves and 
robbers ! God will punish them. You will see ; 
they will be visited with a curse, — a curse in their 
borders ; their sons and their daughters shall be deso- 
late ! But why do I prate in these vain words ? My 
son, tell me your names again ; ” and he seated him- 
self once more at the table where the ancient mar- 
riage-record lay open. 

After writing Alessandro’s name, he turned to 
Eamona. “ And the woman’s ? ” he said. 

Alessandro looked at Eamona. In the chapel he 
had said simply, “Majella.” What name should he 
give more ? 

Without a second’s hesitation, Eamona answered, 
“ Majella. Majella Phail is my name.” 

She pronounced the word “ Phail,” slowly. It was 
new to her. She had never seen it written ; as it 
lingered on her lips, the Father, to whom also it was 
a new word, misunderstood it, took it to be in two 
syllables, and so wrote it. 

The last step w 7 as taken in the disappearance of 
Eamona. How should any one, searching in after 
years, find any trace of Eamona Ortegna, in the woman 
married under the name of “ Majella Fayeel ” ? 

“ No, no ! Put up your money, son,” said Father 
Gaspara, as Alessandro began to undo the knots 
of the handkerchief in which his gold was tied. 
“ Put up your money. I ’ll take no money from a 
Temecula Indian. I would the Church had money 
to give you. Where are you going now ? ” 


318 


RAMONA. 


“To San Pasquale, Father.” 

“ Ah ! San Pasquale ! The head man there has the 
old pueblo paper,” said Father Gaspara. “ He was 
showing it to me the other day. That will, it may 
be, save you there. But do not trust to it, son. Buy 
yourself a piece of land as the white man buys his. 
Trust to nothing.” 

Alessandro looked anxiously in the Father’s . face. 
“ How is that, Father ? ” he said. “ I do not know ” 

“ Well, their rules be thick as the crabs here on 
the beach,” replied Father Gaspara; “and, faith, they 
appear to me to be backwards of motion also, like 
the crabs : but the lawyers understand. When you 
have picked out your land, and have the money, come 
to me, and I will go with you and see that you are 
not cheated in the buying, so far as I can tell ; but 
I myself am at my wit’s ends with their devices. 
Farewell, son ! Farewell, daughter ! ” he said, rising 
from his chair. Hunger was again getting the better 
of sympathy in Father Gaspara, and as he sat down 
to his long-deferred supper, the Indian couple faded 
from his mind ; but after supper was over, as he sat 
smoking his pipe on the veranda, they returned again, 
and lingered in his thoughts, — lingered strangely, it 
seemed to him ; he could not shake off the impres- 
sion that there was something unusual about the 
woman. “ I shall hear of them again, some day,” he 
thought. And he thought rightly. 


XIX. 



FTER leaving Father Gaspara’s door, Alessandro 


XA- and Ramona rode slowly through the now de- 
serted plaza, and turned northward, on the river road, 
leaving the old Presidio walls on their right. The 
river was low, and they forded it without difficulty. 

“ I have seen this river so high that there was no 
fording it for many days,” said Alessandro ; “ but that 
was in spring.” 

“Then it is well we came not at that time,” said 
Ramona. “ All the times have fallen out well for us, 
Alessandro, — the dark nights, and the streams low; 
but look! as Isay it, there comes the moon!”,and 
she pointed to the fine threadlike arc of the new 
moon, just visible in the sky. “ Not big enough to 
do us any harm, however,” she added. “ But, dear 
Alessandro, do you not think we are safe now ?” 

“ I know not, Majella, if ever we may be safe ; but 
I hope so. I have been all day thinking I had gone 
foolish last night, when I told Mrs. Hartsel that I 
was on my way to San Pasquale. But if men should 
come there asking for us, she would understand, I 
think, and keep a still tongue. She would keep 
harm from us if she could.” 

Their way from San Diego to San Pasquale lay at 
first along a high mesa, or table-land, covered with 
low shrub growths; after some ten or twelve miles 
of this, they descended among winding ridges, into 
a narrow valley, — the Poway valley. It was here 
that the Mexicans made one of their few abortive 
efforts to repel the American forces. 


320 


RAMONA. 


“ Here were some Americans killed, in a fight 
with the Mexicans, Majella,” said Alessandro. “ I 
myself have a dozen bullets which I picked up in 
the ground about here. Many a time I have looked 
at them and thought if there should come another 
war against the Americans, I would fire them 
again, if I could. Does Sen or Felipe think there is 
any likelihood that his people will rise against them 
any more ? If they would, they would have all the 
Indians to help them, now. It would be a mercy if 
they might be driven out of the land, Majella.” 

“ Yes,” sighed Majella. “ But there is no hope. 
I have heard the Senora speak of it with Felipe. 
There is no hope. They have power, and great 
riches, she said. Money is all that they think of. 
To get money, they will commit any crime, even 
murder. Every day there comes the news of their 
murdering each other for gold. Mexicans kill each 
other only for hate, Alessandro, — for hate, or in 
anger ; never for gold.” 

“ Indians, also,” replied Alessandro. “ Never one 
Indian killed another, yet, for money. It is for 
vengeance, always. For money ! Bah ! Majella, they 
are dogs ! ” 

Barely did Alessandro speak with such vehemence ; 
but this last outrage on his people had kindled in his 
veins a fire of scorn and hatred which would never 
die out. Trust in an American was henceforth to 
him impossible. The name was a synonym for fraud 
and cruelty. 

“ They cannot all be so bad, I think, Alessandro,” 
said Bamona. “ There must be some that are honest ; 
do you not think so ? ” 

“ Where are they, then,” he cried fiercely, — “ the 
ones who are good ? Among my people there are 
always some that are bad ; but they are in disgrace. 
My father punished them, the whole people punished 


RAMONA. 


321 


them. If there are Americans who are good, who 
will not cheat and kill, why do they not send' after 
these robbers and punish them ? And how is it that 
they make laws which cheat ? It was the American 
law which took Temecula away from us, and gave 
it to those men ! The law was on the side of & the 
thieves. No, Majella, it is a people that steals! 
That is their name, — a people that steals, and that 
kills for money. Is not that a good name for a great 
people to bear, when they are like the sands in the 
sea, they are so many ? ” 

“ That is what -the Senora says,” answered Ramona. 
“ She says they are all thieves ; that she knows not, 
each day, but that on the next will come more of 
them, with new laws, to take away more of her land. 
She had once more than twice what she has now, 
Alessandro.” 

“ Yes,” he replied ; “ I know it. My father has 
told me. He was with Father Peyri at the place, 
when General Moreno was alive. Then all was his 
to the sea, — all that land we rode over the second 
night, Majella.” 

“ Yes,” she said, “all to the sea ! That is what the 
Senora is ever saying : ‘ To the sea ! ’ Oh, the beau- 
tiful sea! Can we behold it from San Pasquale, 
Alessandro ? ” 

“ No, my Majella, it is too far. San Pasquale is in the 
valley; it has hills all around it like walls. But it is 
good. Majella will love it ; and I will build a house, 
Majella. All the people will help me. That is the 
way with our people. In two days it will be done. 
But it will be a poor place for my Majella,” he said 
sadly. Alessandro’s heart was ill at ease. Truly a 
strange bride’s journey was this ; but Ramona felt no 
fear. 

“ No place can be so poor that I do not choose it, 
if you are there, rather than the most beautiful place 
21 


322 


RAMONA. 


in the world where you are not, Alessandro,” she 
said. 

“ But my Majella loves things that are beautiful,” 
said Alessandro. “ She has lived like a queen.” 

“ Oh, Alessandro,” merrily laughed Bamona, “how 
little you know of the way queens live ! Nothing 
was fine at the Senora Moreno’s, only comfortable ; 
and any house you will build, I can make as com- 
fortable as that was ; it is nothing hut trouble to 
have one so large as the Seiiora’s. Margarita used 
to he tired to death, sweeping all those rooms in 
which nobody lived except the blessed old San Luis 
Bey saints. Alessandro, if we could have had just 
one statue, either Saint Francis or the Madonna, to 
bring luck to our house ! That is what I would like 
better than all other things in the world. It is beau- 
tiful to sleep with the Madonna close to your bed. 
She speaks often to you in dreams.” 

Alessandro fixed serious, questioning eyes on Ba- 
mona as she uttered these words. When she spoke 
like this, he felt indeed as if a being of some other 
sphere had come to dwell by his side. “ I cannot 
find how to feel towards the saints as you do, my 
Majella,” he said. “ I am afraid of them. It must 
be because they love you, and do not love us. That 
is what I believe, Majella. I believe they are dis- 
pleased with us, and no longer make mention of us in 
heaven. That is what the Fathers taught that the 
saints were ever doing, — praying to God for us, and 
to the Virgin and Jesus. It is not possible, you see, 
that they could have been praying for us, and yet 
such things have happened, as happened in Temecula. 
I do not know how it is my people have displeased 
them.” 

“ I think Father Salvierderra would say that it is 
a sin to be afraid of the saints, Alessandro,” replied 
Bamona, earnestly. “ He has often told me that it 


RAMONA. 


323 


was a sin to be unhappy; and that withheld me 
many times from being wretched because the Sefiora 
would not love me. And, Alessandro,” she went on, 
growing more and more fervent in tone, “ even if noth- 
ing but misfortune comes to people, that does not 
prove that the saints do not love them ; for when the 
saints were on earth themselves, look what they suf- 
fered : martyrs they were, almost all of them. Look at 
what holy Saint Catharine endured, and the blessed 
Saint Agnes. It is not by what happens to us here 
in this world that we can tell if the saints love us, or 
if we will see the Blessed Virgin.” 

“ How can we tell, then ? ” he asked. 

" By what we feel in our hearts, Alessandro,” she 
replied; “just as I knew all the time, when you did 
not come, — I knew that you loved me. I knew that 
in my heart ; and I shall always know it, no matter 
what happens. If you are dead, I shall know that 
you love me. And you, — you will know that I love 
you, the same.” 

“ Yes,” said Alessandro, reflectively, “ that is true. 
But, Majella, it is not possible to have the same 
thoughts about a saint as about a person that one has 
seen, and heard the voice, and touched the hand.” 

“No, not quite,” said Ramona; “not quite, about 
a saint ; but one can for the Blessed Virgin, Alessan- 
dro ! I am sure of that. Her statue, in my room at 
the Senora’s, has been always my mother. Ever 
since I was little I have told her all I did. It was 
she helped me to plan what I should bring away 
with us. She reminded me of many things I had 
forgotten, except for her.” 

“ Did you hear her speak ? ” said Alessandro, awe- 
stricken. 

“ Not exactly in words ; but just the same as in 
words,” replied Ramona, confidently. “ You see when 
you sleep in the room with her, it is very different 


324 


RAMONA. 


from what it is if you only see her in a chapel. Oh, 
I could never be very unhappy with her in my 
room ! * 

“ I would almost go and steal it for you, Majella,” 
cried Alessandro, with sacrilegious warmth. 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” cried Eamona, “ never speak such 
a word. You would be struck dead if you laid your 
hand on her ! I fear even the thought was a sin.” 

“ There was a small figure of her in the wall of 
our house,” said Alessandro. “It was from San Luis 
Key. I do not know what became of it, — if it were 
left behind, or if they took it with my father’s things 
to Pachanga. I did not see it there. When I go 
again, I will look.” 

“ Again !” cried Kamona. “What say you ? You 
go again to Pachanga ? You will not leave me, 
Alessandro ? ” 

At the bare mention of Alessandro’s leaving her, 
Kamona’s courage always vanished. In a moment, in 
the twinkling of an eye, she was transformed from 
the dauntless, confident, sunny woman, who bore him 
up as it were on wings of hope and faith, to a timid, 
shrinking, despondent child, crying out in alarm, and 
clinging to the hand. 

“ After a time, dear Majella, when you are wonted 
to the place, I must go, to fetch the wagon and the 
few things that were ours. There is the raw-hide 
bed which was Father Peyri’s, and he gave to my 
father. Majella will like to lie on that. My father 
believed it had great virtue.” 

“ Like that you made for Felipe ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes ; but it is not so large. In those days the 
cattle were not so large as they are now : this is not 
so broad as Senor Felipe’s. There are chairs, too, from 
the Mission, three of them, one almost as fine as those 
on your veranda at home. They were given to my 
father. And music-books, — beautiful parchment 


RAMONA. 


325 


books ! Oh, I hope those are not lost, Majella ! If 
Jos4 had lived, he would have looked after it all. 
But in the confusion, all the things belonging to the 
village were thrown into wagons together, and no 
one knew where anything was. But all the people 
knew my father’s chairs and the books of the music. 
If the Americans did not steal them, everything will 
be safe. My people do not steal. There was never 
but one thief in our village, and my father had him 
so whipped, he ran away and never came back. I 
heard he was living in Sail Jacinto, and was a thief 
yet, spite of all that whipping he had. I think if it 
is in the blood to be a thief, not even whipping will 
take 'it out, Majella.” 

“ Like the Americans,” she said, half laughing, but 
with tears in the voice. “ Whipping would not cure 
them.” 

It wanted yet more than an hour of dawn when 
they reached the crest of the hill from which they 
looked down on the San Pasquale valley. Two such 
crests and valleys they had passed ; this was the 
broadest of the three valleys, and the hills walling 
it were softer and rounder of contour than any they 
had yet seen. To the east and northeast lay ranges 
of high mountains, their tops lost in the clouds. The 
whole sky was overcast and gray. 

“ If it were spring, this would mean rain,” said 
Alessandro ; “ but it cannot rain, I think, now.” 

“No!” laughed Bamona, “not till we get our 
house done. Will it be of adobe, Alessandro ? ” 

“ Dearest Majella, not yet ! At first it must be of 
the tule. They are very comfortable while it is warm, 
and before winter I will build one of adobe.” 

“ Two houses ! Wasteful Alessandro ! If the tule 
house is good, I shall not let you, Alessandro, build 
another.” 

Bamona’s mirthful moments bewildered Alessandro. 


326 


RAMONA 


To his slower temperament and saddened nature they 
seemed preternatural ; as if she were all of a sudden 
changed into a bird, or some gay creature outside the 
pale of human life, — outside and above it. 

“ You speak as the birds sing, my Majella,” he said 
slowly. “ It was well to name you Majel ; only the 
wood-dove has not joy in her voice, as you have. She 
says only that she loves and waits.” 

“ I say that, too, Alessandro ! ” replied Ramona, 
reaching out both her arms towards him. 

The horses were walking slowly, and very close 
side by side. Baba and\Benito were now such friends 
they liked to pace closely side by side ; and Baba and 
Benito were by no means without instinctive recogni- 
tions of the sympathy between their riders. Already 
Benito knew Ramona’s voice, and answered it with 
pleasure ; and Baba had long ago learned to stop when 
his mistress laid her hand on Alessandro’s shoulder. 
He stopped now, and it was long minutes before he 
had the signal to go on again. 

“ Majella ! Majella ! ” cried Alessandro, as, grasp- 
ing both her hands in his, he held them to his cheeks, 
to his neck, to his mouth, “ if the saints would ask 
Alessandro to be a martyr for Majella’s sake, like 
those she was telling of, then she would know if 
Alessandro loved her ! But what can Alessandro do 
now ? What, oh, what ? Majella gives all ; Ales- 
sandro gives nothing ! ” and he bowed his forehead 
on her hands, before he put them back gently on 
Baba’s neck. 

Tears filled Ramona’s eyes. How should she win 
this saddened man, this distrusting lover, to the joy 
which was his desert ? “ Alessandro can do one 

thing,” she said, insensibly falling into his mode of 
speaking, — “ one thing for his Majella : never, never, 
never say that he has nothing to give her. When he 
says that, he makes Majella a liar ; for she has said 


RAMONA. 


327 


that he is all the world to her, — he himself all the 
world which she desires. Is Majella a liar ? ” 

But it was even now with an ecstasy only half 
joy, the other half anguish, that Alessandro replied : 
“Majella cannot lie. Majella is like the saints. 
Alessandro is hers.” 

When they rode down into the valley, the whole 
village was astir. The vintage-time had nearly passed ; 
everywhere were to be seen large, flat baskets of 
grapes drying in the sun. Old women and children 
were turning these, or pounding acorns in the deep 
stone bowls ; others were beating the yucca-stalks, 
and putting them to soak in water; the oldest women 
were sitting on the ground, weaving baskets. There 
were not many men in the village now ; two large 
bands were away at work, — one at the autumn sheep- 
shearing, and one working on a large irrigating ditch 
at San Bernardino. 

In different directions from the village slow-mov- 
ing herds of goats or of cattle could be seen, being 
driven to pasture on the hills ; some men were 
ploughing; several groups were at work building 
houses of bundles of the tule reeds. 

“These are some of the Temecula people,” said 
Alessandro; “they are building themselves new houses 
here. See those piles of bundles darker-colored than 
the rest. Those are their old roofs they brought from 
Temecula. There, there comes Ysidro!” he cried 
joyfully, as a man, well-mounted, who had been 
riding from point to point in the village, came 
galloping towards them. As soon as Ysidro recog- 
nized Alessandro, he flung himself from his horse. 
Alessandro did the same, and both running swiftly 
towards each other till they met, 'they embraced 
silently. Bamona, riding up, held out her hand, 
saying, as she did so, “ Ysidro ? ” 

Pleased, yet surprised, at this confident and assured 


328 


RAMONA. 


greeting, Ysidro saluted her, and turning to Alessan- 
dro, said in their own tongue, “ Who is this woman 
whom you bring, that has heard my name ? ” 

“ My wife ! ” answered Alessandro, in the same 
tongue. “We were married last night by Father 
Gaspara. She comes from the house of the Sen ora 
Moreno. We will live in San Pasquale, if you have 
land for me, as you have said.” 

Whatever astonishment Ysidro felt, he showed 
none. Only a grave and courteous welcome was in his 
face and in his words as he said, “ It is well. There 
is room. You are welcome.” But when he heard the 
soft Spanish syllables in which Bamona spoke to 
Alessandro, and Alessandro, translating her words 
to him, said, “ Majel speaks only in the Spanish 
tongue, but she will learn ours,” a look of disquiet 
passed over his countenance. His heart feared for 
Alessandro, and he said, “ Is she, then, not Indian ? 
Whence got she the name of Majel ? ” 

A look of swift intelligence from Alessandro reas- 
sured him. “ Indian on the mother’s side ! ” said 
Alessandro, “ and she belongs in heart to our people. 
She is alone, save for me. She is one blessed of 
the Virgin, Ysidro. She will help us. The name 
Majel I have given her, for she is like the wood- 
dove ; and she is glad to lay her old name down for- 
ever, to bear this new name in our tongue.” 

And this was Bamona’ s introduction to the Indian 
village, — this and her smile ; perhaps the smile did 
most. Even the little children were not afraid of 
her. The women, though shy, in the beginning, at 
sight of her noble bearing, and her clothes of a kind 
and quality they associated only with superiors, soon 
felt her friendliness, and, what was more, saw by her 
every word, tone, look, that she was Alessandro’s. If 
Alessandro’s, theirs. She was one of them. Bamona 
would have been profoundly impressed and touched. 


RAMONA. 


329 


could she have heard them speaking among them- 
selves about her ; wondering how it had come about 
that she, so beautiful, and nurtured in the Moreno 
house, of which they all knew, should be Alessandro’s 
loving wife. It must be, they thought in their sim- 
plicity, that the saints had sent it as an omen of good 
to the Indian people. Toward night they came, 
bringing in a hand-barrow the most aged woman in 
the village to look at her. She wished to see the 
beautiful stranger before the sun went down, they 
said, because she was now so old she believed each 
night that before morning her time would come to 
die. They also wished to hear the old woman’s ver- 
dict on her. When Alessandro saw them coming, he 
understood, and made haste to explain it to Ramona. 
While he was yet speaking, the procession arrived, 
and the aged woman in her strange litter was placed 
silently on the ground in front of Ramona, who was 
sitting under Ysidro’s great fig-tree. Those who had 
borne her withdrew, and seated themselves a few 
paces off. Alessandro spoke first. In a few words 
he told the old woman of Ramona’s birth, of their 
marriage, and of her new name of adoption; then 
he said, “ Take her hand, dear Majella, if you feel no 
fear.” 

There was something scarcely human in the shriv- 
elled arm and hand outstretched in greeting; but 
Ramona took it in hers with tender reverence : “ Say 
to her for me, Alessandro,” she said, “ that I bow 
down to her great age with reverence, and that I hope, 
if it is the will of God that I live on the earth so long 
as she has, I may be worthy of such reverence as 
these people all feel for her.” 

Alessandro turned a grateful look on Ramona as 
he translated this speech, so in unison with Indian 
modes of thought and feeling. A murmur of pleasure 
^pse from the group of women sitting by. The aged 


330 


RAMONA . 


woman made no reply ; her eyes still studied Ramo- 
na’s face, and she still held her hand. 

“ Tell her,” continued Ramona, “ that I ask if there 
is anything I can do for her. Say I will be her 
daughter if she will let me.” 

“It must be the Virgin herself that is teaching 
Majella what to say,” thought Alessandro, as he 
repeated this in the San Luiseno tongue. 

Again the women murmured pleasure, but the old 
woman spoke not. “ And say that you will be her 
son,” added Ramona. 

Alessandro said it. It was perhaps for this that 
the old woman had waited. Lifting up her arm, like 
a sibyl, she said : “ It is well ; I am your mother. The 
winds of the valley shall love you, and the grass shall 
dance when you come. The daughter looks on her 
mother’s face each day. I will go ; ” and making a 
sign to her bearers, she was lifted, and carried to her 
house. 

The scene affected Ramona deeply. The simplest 
acts of these people seemed to her marvellously pro- 
found in their meanings. She was not herself suffi- 
ciently educated or versed in life to know why she 
was so moved, — to know that such utterances, such 
symbolisms as these, among primitive peoples, are 
thus impressive because they are truly and grandly 
dramatic ; but she was none the less stirred by 
them, because she could not analyze or explain 
them. 

“ I will go and see her every day,” she said ; “ she 
shall be like my mother, whom I never saw.” 

“We must both go each day,” said Alessandro. 
K What we have said is a solemn promise among my 
people ; it would not be possible to break it.” 

Ysidro’s home was in the centre of the village, 
on a slightly rising ground ; it was a picturesque 
group of four small houses, three of tule reeds and 


RAMONA. 


331 


one of adobe, — the latter a comfortable little house 
of two rooms, with a floor and a shingled roof, both 
luxuries in San JPasquale. The great fig-tree, whose 
luxuriance and size were noted far and near through- 
out the country, stood half-way down the slope ; but 
its boughs shaded all three of the tule houses. On 
one of its lower branches was fastened a dove-cote, 
ingeniously made of willow wands, plastered with 
adobe, and containing so many rooms that the whole 
tree seemed sometimes a-flutter with doves and dove- 
lings. Here and there, between the houses, were huge 
baskets, larger than barrels, woven of twigs, as the 
eagle weaves its nest, only tighter and thicker. 
These were the outdoor granaries ; in these were kept 
acorns, barley, wheat, and corn. Ramona thought 
them, as well she might, the prettiest things she ever 
saw. 

“ Are they hard to make ? ” she asked. “ Can you 
make them, Alessandro ? I shall want many.” 

“ All you want, my Majella,” replied Alessandro. 
“ We will go together to get the twigs ; T can, I dare 
say, buy some in the village. It is only two days to 
make a large one.” 

“ No. Do not buy one,” she exclaimed. “ I wish 
everything in our house to be made by ourselves.” 
In which, again, Ramona was unconsciously striking 
one of the keynotes of pleasure in the primitive har- 
monies of existence. 

The tule house which stood nearest to the dove- 
cote was, by a lucky chance, now empty, Ysidro’s 
brother Ramon, who had occupied it, having gone 
with his wife and baby to San Bernardino, for the 
winter, to work ; this house Ysidro was but too 
happy to give to Alessandro till his own should be 
done. It was a tiny place, though it was really two 
houses joined together by a roofed passage-way. In this 
passage-way the tidy Juana, Ramon’s wife, kept her 


332 


RAMONA. 


few pots and pans, and a small stove. It looked to 
Ramona like a baby-house. Timidly Alessandro said : 
“ Can Majella live in this small place for a time ? It 
will not be very long; there are adobes already made.” 

His countenance cleared as Ramona replied glee- 
fully, “I think it will be very comfortable, and I 
shall feel as if we were all doves together in the dove- 
cote 1 ” 

“Majel !” exclaimed Alessandro; and that was all 
he said. 

Only a few rods off stood the little chapel ; in 
front of it swung on a cross-bar from two slanting 
posts an old bronze bell which had once belonged 
to the San Diego Mission. When Ramona read the 
date, “ 1790,” on its side, and heard that it was from 
the San Diego Mission church it had come, she 
felt a sense of protection in its presence. 

“ Think, Alessandro,” she said ; “this bell, no doubt, 
has rung maily times for the mass for the holy 
Father Junipero himself. It is a blessing to the 
village. I want to live where I can see it all the 
time. It will be like a saint’s statue in the house.” 

With every allusion that Ramona made to the 
saints’ statues, Alessandro’s desire to procure one for 
her deepened. He said nothing ; but he revolved it 
in his mind continually. He had once gone with his 
shearers to San Fernando, and there he had seen in a 
room of the old Mission buildings a dozen statues 
of saints huddled in, dusty confusion. The San Fer- 
nando church was in crumbled ruins, and such of 
the church properties as were left there were in the 
keeping of a Mexican not over-careful, and not in 
the least devout. It would not trouble him to part 
with a saint or two, Alessandro thought, and no 
irreverence to the saint either ; on the contrary, the 
greatest of reverence, since the statue was to be taken 
from a place where no one cared for it, and brought 


RAMONA. 


333 


into one where it would be tenderly cherished, and 
worshipped every day. If only San Fernando were 
not so far away, and the wooden saints so heavy ! 
However, it should come about yet. Majella should 
have a saint ; nor distance nor difficulty should keep 
Alessandro from procuring for his Majel the few 
things that lay within his power. But he held his 
peace about it. It would be a sweeter gift, if she 
did not know it beforehand. He pleased himself as 
subtly and secretly as if he had come of civilized 
generations, thinking how her eyes would dilate, if 
she waked up some morning and saw the saint by her 
bedside ; and how sure she would be to think, at first, 
it was a miracle, — his dear, devout Majella, who, with 
all her superior knowledge, was yet more credulous 
than he. All her education had not taught her to 
think, as he, untaught, had learned, in his solitude 
with nature. 

Before Alessandro had been two days in San Pas- 
quale, he had heard of a piece of good-fortune which 
almost passed his belief, and which startled him for 
once out of his usual impassive demeanor. 

“You know I have a herd of cattle of your father’s, 
and near a hundred sheep ?” said Ysidro. 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” cried Alessandro, “ you do not 
mean that ! How is that ? They told me all our 
stock was taken by the Americans.” 

“ Yes, so it was, all that was in Temecula,” replied 
Ysidro ; “ but in the spring your father sent down 
to know if I would take a herd for him up into the 
mountains, with ours, as he feared the Temecula 
pasture w^ould fall short, and the people there, who 
could not leave, must have their cattle near home ; 
so he sent a herd over, — I think, near fifty head ; and 
many of the cows have calved; and he sent, also, 
a little flock of sheep, — a hundred, Bamon said ; 
he herded them with ours all summer, and he left a 


334 


RAMONA. 


man up there with them. They will be down next 
week. It is time they were sheared.” 

Before he had finished speaking, Alessandro had 
vanished, bounding like a deer. Ysidro stared after 
him ; but seeing him enter the doorway of the little 
tule hut, he understood, and a sad smile passed 
over his face. He was not yet persuaded that this 
marriage of Alessandro’s would turn out a bless- 
ing. “What are a handful of sheep to her!” he 
thought. 

Breathless, panting, Alessandro burst into Ramona’s 
presence. “ Majella ! my Majella ! There are cattle 
— and sheep,” he cried. “ The saints be praised ! 
We are not like the beggars, as I said.” 

“ I told you that God would give us food, dear 
Alessandro,” replied Ramona, gently. 

“ You do not wonder ! You do not ask ! ” he 
cried, astonished at her calm. “ Does Majella think 
that a sheep or a steer can come down from the 
skies ? ” 

“ Nay, not as our eyes would see,” she answered ; 
“ but the holy ones who live in the skies can do any- 
thing they like on the earth. Whence came these 
cattle, and how are they ours ?” 

When he told her, her face grew solemn. “Do 
you remember that night in the willows,” she said, 
“ when I was like one dying, because you would not 
bring me with you ? You had no faith that there 
would be food. And I told you then that the saints 
never forsook those who loved them, and that God 
would give food. And even at that moment, when 
you did not know it, there were your cattle and your 
sheep feeding in the mountains, in the keeping of 
God ! Will my Alessandro believe after this ? ” and 
she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“ It is true,” said Alessandro. “ I will believe, after 
this, that the saints love my Majella.” 


RAMONA. 


335 


But as he walked at a slower pace back to Ysidro, 
he said to himself : “ Majella did not see Temecula. 
What would she have said about the saints, if she 
had seen that, and seen the people dying for want of 
food ? It is only for her that the saints pray. They 
are displeased with my people.” 


XX. 


O NE year, and a half of another year, had passed. 

Sheep-shearings and vintages had been in San 
Pasquale ; and Alessandro’s new house, having been 
beaten on by the heavy spring rains, looked no 
longer new. It stood on the south side of the 
valley, — too far, Ramona felt, from the blessed bell; 
but there had not been land enough for wheat-fields 
any nearer, and she could see the chapel, and the 
posts, and, on a clear day, the bell itself. The house 
was small. “ Small to hold so much joy,” she said, 
when Alessandro first led her to it, and said, depre- 
catingly, “ It is small, Majella, — too small; ” and he 
recollected bitterly, as he spoke, the size of Ramona’s 
own room at the Senora’s house. “ Too small,” he 
repeated. 

“ Very small to hold so much joy, my Alessandro,” 
she laughed ; “ but quite large enough to hold two 
persons.” 

It looked like a palace to the San Pasqnale people, 
after Ramona had arranged their little possessions in 
it ; and she herself felt rich as she looked around her 
two small rooms. The old San Luis Rey chairs and 
the raw-hide bedstead were there, and, most precious 
of all, the statuette of the Madonna. For this Ales- 
sandro had built a niche in the wall, between the 
head of the bed and the one window. The niche 
was deep enough to hold small pots in front of the 
statuette ; and Ramona kept constantly growing there 
wild- cucumber plants, which wreathed and re- wreathed 
the niche till it looked like a bower. Below it hung 
her gold rosary and the ivory Christ; and many a 


RAMONA. 


337 


woman of the village, when she came to see Eamona, 
asked permission to go into the bedroom and say her 
prayers there ; so that it finally came to be a sort of 
shrine for the whole village. 

A broad veranda, as broad as the Sen ora’s, ran 
across the front of the little house. This was the 
only thing for which Eamona had asked. She could 
not quite fancy life without a veranda, and linnets in 
the thatch. But the linnets had not yet come. In 
vain Eamona strewed food for them, and laid little 
trains of crumbs to lure them inside the posts ; they 
would not build nests inside. It was not their way 
in San Pasquale. They lived in the, canons, but this 
part of the valley was too bare of trees for them. 
“ In a year or two more, when we have orchards, they 
will come,” Alessandro said. 

With the money from that first sheep-shearing, 
and from the sale of part of his cattle, Alessandro 
had bought all he needed in the way of farming 
implements, — a good wagon and harnesses, and a 
plough. Baba and Benito, at first restive and indig- 
nant, soon made up their minds to work. Eamona 
had talked to Baba about it as she would have talked 
to a brother. In fact, except for Eamona’s help, it 
would have been a question whether even Alessandro 
could have made Baba work in harness. “ Gopd 
Baba ! ” Eamona said, as she slipped piece after piece 
of the harness over his neck, — “ Good Baba, you must 
help us ; we have so much work to do, and you are 
so strong! Good Baba, do you love me?” and with 
one hand in his mane, and her cheek, every few steps, 
laid close to his, she led Baba up and down the first 
furrows he ploughed. 

“ My Senorita ! ” thought Alessandro to himself, 
half in pain, half in pride, as, running behind with 
the unevenly jerked plough, he watched her laughing 
face and blowing hair, — “ my Senorita ! ” 

22 


338 


RAMONA. 


But Ramona would not run with her hand in 
Baba’s mane this winter. There was a new work for 
her, indoors. In a rustic cradle, which Alessandro 
had made, under her directions, of the woven twigs, 
like the great outdoor acorn-granaries, -only closer 
woven, and of an oval shape, and lifted from the floor 
by four uprights of red manzanita stems, — in this 
cradle, on soft white wool fleeces, covered with white 
homespun blankets, lay Ramona’s baby, six months 
old, lusty, strong, and beautiful, as only children born 
of great love and under healthful conditions can be. 
This child was a girl, to Alessandro’s delight ; to 
Ramona’s regret, — so far as a loving mother can 
feel regret connected with her first-born. Ramona 
had wished for an Alessandro ; but the disappointed 
wish faded out of her thoughts, hour by hour, as she 
gazed into her baby-girl’s blue eyes, — eyes so blue 
that their color was the first thing noticed by each 
person who looked at her. 

“ Eyes of the sky,” exclaimed Ysidro, when he first 
saw her. 

“ Like the mother’s,” said Alessandro ; on which 
Ysidro turned an astonished look upon Ramona, 
and saw for the first time that her eyes, too, were 
blue. 

“ Wonderful ! ” he said. “ It is so. I never saw it;” 
and he wondered in his heart what father it had been, 
who had given eyes like those to one born of an 
Indian mother. 

“Eyes of the sky,” became at once the baby’s 
name in the village; and Alessandro and Ramona, 
before they knew it, had fallen into the way of so 
calling her. But when it came to the christening, 
they demurred. The news was brought to the village, 
one Saturday, that Father Gaspara would hold ser- 
vices in the valley the next day, and that he wished 
all the new-born babes to be brought for christening. 


RAMONA. 


339 


Late into the night, Alessandro and Ramona sat by 
their sleeping baby and discussed what should be her 
name. Ramona wondered that Alessandro did not 
wish to name her Majella. 

“ No ! Never but one Majella,” he said, in a tone 
which gave Eamona a sense of vague fear, it was so 
solemn. 

They discussed “Ramona,” “Isabella.” Alessan- 
dro suggested Carmena. This had been his mother’s 
name. 

At the mention of it Ramona shuddered, recollect- 
ing the scene in the Temecula graveyard. “ Oh, no, 
no ! Not that ! ” she cried. “It is ill-fated ; ” and 
Alessandro blamed himself for having forgotten her 
only association with the name. 

At last Alessandro said : “ The people have named 
her, I think, Majella. Whatever name we give her 
in the chapel, she will never be called anything but 
* Eyes of the Sky,’ in the village.” 

“ Let that name be her true one, then,” said Ra- 
mona. And so it was settled ; and when Father 
Gaspara took the little one in his arms, and made the 
sign of the cross on her brow, he pronounced with 
some difficulty the syllables of the Indian name, 
which meant “Blue Eyes,” or “Eyes of the Sky.” 

Heretofore, when Father Gaspara had come to San 
Pasquale to say mass, he had slept at Lomax’s, the 
store and post-office, six miles away, in the Bernardo 
valley. But Ysidro, with great pride, had this time 
ridden to meet him, to say that his cousin Alessan- 
dro, who had come to live in the valley, and had a 
good new adobe house, begged that the Father would 
do him the honor to stay with him. 

“And indeed, Father,” added Ysidro, “you will 
be far better lodged and fed than in the house of 
Lomax. My cousin’s wife knows well how all should 
be done.” 


340 


RAMONA. 


“Alessandro ! Alessandro ! ” said the Father, mus- 
ingly. “ Has he been long married ? ” 

“No, Father” answered Ysidro. “But little more 
than two years. They were married by you, on their 
way from Temecula here.” 

“Ay, ay ! I remember,” said Father Gaspara. “ I 
will come ; ” and it was with no small interest that 
he looked forward to meeting again the couple that 
had so strongly impressed him. 

Ramona was full of eager interest in her preparations 
for eutertaining the priest. This was like the olden 
time ; and as she busied herself with her cooking and 
other arrangements, the thought of Father Salvier- 
derra was much in her mind. She could, perhaps, 
hear news of him from Father Gaspara. It was she 
who had suggested the idea to Alessandro ; and when 
he said, “ But where will you sleep yourself, with the 
child, Majella, if we give our room to the Father ? I 
can lie on the floor outside ; hut you ? ” — “I will go 
to Ysidro’s, and sleep with Juana,” she replied. “ For 
two nights, it is no matter ; and it is such shame to 
have the Father sleep in the house of an American, 
when we have a good bed like this!” 

Seldom in his life had Alessandro experienced 
such a sense of gratification as he did when he led 
Father Gaspara into his and Ramona’s bedroom. 
The clean whitewashed walls, the bed neatly made, 
with broad lace on sheets aud pillows, hung.with cur- 
tains and a canopy of bright red calico, the old carved 
chairs, the Madonna shrine in its bower of green 
leaves, the shelves on the walls, the white-curtained 
window, — all made up a picture such as Father 
Gaspara had never before seen in his pilgrimages 
among the Indian villages. He could not" restrain 
an ejaculation of surprise. Then his eye falling on 
the golden rosary, he exclaimed, “Where got you 
that?” 


RAMONA. 


341 


“ It is my wife’s,” replied Alessandro, proudly. “ It 
was given to her by Father Salvierderra.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Father. “ He died the other day.” 

“ Dead ! Father Salvierderra dead ! ” cried Ales- 
sandro. “ That will be a terrible blow. Oh, Father, 
I implore you not to speak of it in her presence. She 
must not know it till after the christening. It w 7 ill 
make her heart heavy, so that she will have no 

joy-” 

Father Gaspara was still scrutinizing the rosary 
and crucifix. “To be sure, to be sure,” he said ab- 
sently ; “ I will say nothing of it ; but this is a work 
of art, this crucifix ; do you know what you have 
here ? And this, — is this not an altar-cloth ? ” he 
added, lifting up the beautiful wrought altar-cloth, 
which Eamona, in honor of his coming, had pinned on 
the wall below the Madonna’s shrine. 

“ Yes, Father, it was made for that. My wife made 
it. It was to be a present to Father Salvierderra ; 
but she has not seen him, to give it to him. It will 
take the light out of the sun for her, when first she 
hears that he is dead.” 

Father Gaspara was about to ask another question, 
when Eamona appeared in the doorway, flushed with 
running. She had carried the baby over to Juana’s 
and left her there, that she might be free to serve the 
Father’s supper. 

“ I pray you tell her not,” said Alessandro, under 
his breath ; but it was too late. Seeing the Father 
with her rosary in his hand, Eamona exclaimed : — 

“ That, Father, is my most sacred possession. It 
once belonged to Father Peyri, of San Luis Eey, and 
he gave it to Father Salvierderra, who gave it to me. 
Know you Father Salvierderra? I was hoping to 
hear news of him through you.” 

“ Yes, I knew him, — not very well ; it is long since 
I saw him,” stammered Father Gaspara. His hesi- 


342 


RAMONA. 


tancy alone would not have told Ramona the truth ; 
she would have, set that down to the secular priest’s 
indifference, or hostility, to the Franciscan order ; but 
looking at Alessandro, she saw terror and sadness on 
his face. No shadow there ever escaped her eye. 
“ What is it, Alessandro ? ” she exclaimed. “ Is it 
something about Father Salvierderra ? Is he ill ? ” 

Alessandro shook his head. He did not know 
what to say. Looking from one to the other, seeing 
the confused pain in both their faces, Ramona, lay- 
ing both her hands on her breast, in the expressive 
gesture she had learned from the Indian women, 
cried out in a piteous tone : “You will not tell me ! 
You do not speak ! Then he is dead ! ” and she sank 
on her knees. 

“Yes, my daughter, he is dead,” said Father Gas- 
para, more tenderly than that brusque and warlike 
priest often spoke. “ He died a month ago, at Santa 
Barbara. I am grieved to have brought you tidings 
to give you such sorrow. But you must not mourn 
for him. He was very feeble, and he longed to die, 
I heard. He could no longer work, and he did not 
wish to live.” 

Ramona had buried her face in her hands. The 
Father’s words were only a confused sound in her 
ears. She had heard nothing after the words, “ a 
month ago.”' She remained silent and motionless for 
some moments ; then rising, without speaking a word, 
or looking at either of the men, she crossed the room 
and knelt down before the Madonna. By a common 
impulse, both Alessandro and Father Gaspara silently 
left the room. As they stood together outside the 
door, the Father said, “ I would go back to Lomax’s 
if it were not so late. I like not to be here when your 
wife is in such grief.” 

“That would but be another grief, Father,” said 
Alessandro. “ She has been full of happiness in 


RAMONA. 


343 


making ready for you. She is very strong of soul. 
It is she who makes me strong often,* and not I who 
give strength to her.” 

“ My faith, but the man is right,” thought Father 
Gaspara, a half-hour later, when, with a calm face, 
Eamona summoned them to supper. He did not 
know, as Alessandro did, how that face had changed in 
the half-hour. It wore a look Alessandro had never 
seen upon it. Almost he dreaded to speak to her. 

When he walked by her side, later in the evening, 
as she went across the valley to Fernando’s house, 
he ventured to mention Father Salvierderra’s name. 
Eamona laid her hand on his lips. “ I cannot talk 
about him yet, dear,” she said. “ I never believed that 
he would die without giving us his blessing. Do not 
speak of him till to-morrow is over.” 

Eamona’s saddened face smote on all the women’s 
hearts as they met her the next morning. One by 
one they gazed, astonished, then turned away, and 
spoke softly among themselves. They all loved her, 
and half revered her too, for her great kindness, and 
readiness to teach and to help them. She had been 
like a sort of missionary in the valley ever since she 
came, and no one had ever seen her face without a 
smile. Now she smiled not. Yet there was' the 
beautiful baby in its white dress, ready to be chris- 
tened ; and the sun shone, and the bell had been ring- 
ing for half an hour, and from every corner of the 
valley the people were gathering, and Father Gaspara, 
in his gold and green cassock, was praying before the 
altar ; it was a joyous day in San Pasquale. Why 
did Alessandro and Eamona kneel apart in a corner, 
with such heart-stricken countenances, not even 
looking glad when their baby laughed, and reached 
up her hands ? Gradually it was whispered about 
what had happened. Some one had got it from An- 
tonio, of Temecula, Alessandro’s friend. Then all the 


344 


RAMONA. 


women’s faces grew sad too. They all had heard of 
Father Salvierderra, and many of them had prayed to 
the ivory Christ in Ramona’s room, and knew that 
he had given it to her. 

As Ramona passed out of the chapel, some of them 
came up to her, and taking her hand in theirs, laid it 
on their hearts, speaking no word. The gesture was 
more than any speech could have been. 

When Father Gaspara was taking leave, Ramona 
said, with quivering lips, “Father, if there is any- 
thing you know of Father Salvierderra’s last hours, 
I would be grateful to you for telling me.” 

“ I heard very little,” replied the Father, “ except 
that he had been feeble for some weeks; yet he 
would persist in spending most of the night kneeling 
on the stone floor in the church, praying.” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Ramona ; “ that he always 
did.” 

“ And the last morning,” continued the Father, “ the 
Brothers found him there, still kneeling on the stone 
floor, but quite powerless to move; and they lifted 
him, and carried him to his room, and there they 
found, to their horror, that he had had no bed ; he had 
lain on the stones ; and then they took him to the 
Superior’s own room, and laid him in the bed, and he 
did not speak any more, and at noon he died.” 

“Thank you very much, Father,” said Ramona, 
without lifting her eyes from the ground ; and in the 
same low, tremulous tone, “ I am glad that I know 
that he is dead.” 

“ Strange what a hold those Franciscans got on 
these Indians!” mused Father Gaspara, as he rode 
down the valley. “ There ’s none of them would look 
like that if I were dead, I warrant me! There,” 
he exclaimed, “ I meant to have asked Alessandro 
who this wife of his is ! I don’t believe she is a 
Temecula Indian. Next time I come, I will find out. 


RAMONA. 


345 


She ’s had some schooling somewhere, that ’s plain. 
She’s quite superior to the general run of them. 
Next time I come, I will find out about her.” 

“ Next time ! ” In what calendar are kept the 
records of those next times which never come ? Long 
before Father Gaspara visited San Pasquale again, 
Alessandro and Ramona were far away, and strangers 
were living in their home. 

It seemed to Ramona in after years, as she looked 
back over this life, that the news of Father Salvier- 
derra’s death was the first note of the knell of their 
happiness. It was hut a few days afterward, when 
Alessandro came in one noon with an expression on 
his face, that terrified her; seating himself in a chair, 
he buried his face in his hands, and would neither 
look up nor speak ; not until Ramona was near crying 
from his silence, did he utter a word. Then, looking 
at her with a ghastly face, he said in a hollow voice, 
“It has begun!” and buried his face again. Finally 
Ramona’s tears wrung from him the following story : 

Ysidro, it seemed, had the previous year rented 
a canon, at the head of the valley, to one Doctor 
Morong. It was simply as bee-pasture that the 
Doctor wanted it, he said. He put his hives there, 
and built a sort of hut for the man whom he sent 
up to look after the honey. Ysidro did not need 
the land, and thought it a good chance to make a 
little money. He had taken every precaution to 
make the transaction a safe one ; had gone to San 
Diego, and got Father Gaspara to act as interpreter for 
him, in the interview with Morong; it had been a 
written agreement, and the rent agreed upon had been 
punctually paid. Now, the time of the lease having 
expired, Ysidro had been to San Diego to ask the 
Doctor if he wished to renew it for another year ; and 
the Doctor had said that, the land was his, and he was 
coming out there to build a house, and live. 


346 


RAMONA. 


Ysidro had gone to Father Gaspara for help, and 
Father Gaspara had had an angry interview with 
Doctor Morong ; but it had done no good. The Doctor 
said the land did not belong to Ysidro at all, but to 
the United States Government ; and that he had paid 
the money for it to the agents in Los Angeles, and 
there would very soon come papers from Washington, 
to show that- it was his. Father Gaspara had gone 
with Ysidro to a lawyer in San Diego, and had 
shown to this lawyer Ysidro’s paper, — the old one 
from the Mexican Governor of California, establishing 
the pueblo of San Pasquale, and saying how many 
leagues of land the Indians were to have; but the 
lawyer had only laughed at Father Gaspara for 
believing that such a paper as that was good for 
anything. He said that was all very well when the 
country belonged to Mexico, but it was no good now ; 
that the Americans owned it now; and everything 
was done by the American law now, not by the 
Mexican law any more. 

“ Then we do not own any land in San Pasquale at 
all,” said Ysidro. “ Is that what it means ? ” 

And the lawyer had said, lie did not know hew it 
would be with the cultivated land, and the village where 
the houses were, — he could not tell about that ; but 
he thought it all belonged to the men at Washington. 

Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that 
he tore open his gown on his breast, and he smote 
himself, and he said he wished he were a soldier, and 
no priest, that he might fight this accursed United 
States Government ; and the lawyer laughed at him, 
and told him to look after souls, — that was his busi- 
ness, — and let the Indian beggars alone ! “Yes, that 
was what he said, — ‘the Indian beggars!’ and so 
they would be all beggars, presently.” 

Alessandro told this by gasps, as it were ; at long 
intervals. His voice was choked; his whole frame 


RAMONA. 


347 


shook. He was nearly beside himself with rage and 
despair. 

“ You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no 
place safe. We can do nothing ! We might better be 
dead!” 

“ It is a long way off, that canon Doctor Morong had,” 
said Kamona, piteously. “ It would n’t do any harm, 
his living there, if no more came.” 

“ Majella talks like a dove, and not like a woman,” 
said Alessandro, fiercely. “ Will there be one to come, 
and not two ? It is the beginning. To-morrow may 
come ten more, with papers to show that the land is 
theirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild 
beasts. They are better than we.” 

From this day Alessandro was a changed man. 
Hope had died in his bosom. In all the village coun- 
cils, — and they were many and long now, for the little 
community had been plunged into great anxiety and 
distress by this Doctor Morong’s affair, — Alessandro 
sat dumb and gloomy. To whatever was proposed, 
he had but one reply: “It is of no use. We can 
do nothing.” 

“ Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we starve,” he 
said one night, bitterly, as the council broke up. When 
Ysidro proposed to him that they should journey 
to Los Angeles, where Father Gaspara had said the 
headquarters of the Government officers were, and 
where they could learn all about the new laws in 
regard to land, Alessandro laughed at him. “ What 
more is it, then, which you wish to know, my 
brother, about the American laws ? ” he said. “Is 
it not enough that you knpw they have made a law 
which will take the land from Indians ; from us who 
have owned it longer than any can remember ; land 
that our ancestors are buried in, — will take that land 
and give it to themselves, and say it is theirs ? Is 
it to hear this again said in your face, and to see 


348 


RAMONA. 


the man laugh who says it, like the lawyer in San 
Diego, that you will journey to Los Angeles ? I will 
not go ! ” 

And Ysidro went alone. Father Gaspara gave him 
a letter to the Los Angeles priest, who went with 
him to the land-office, patiently interpreted for him 
all he had to say, and as patiently interpreted all 
that the officials had to say in reply. They did not 
laugh, as Alessandro in his bitterness had said. They 
were not inhuman, and they felt sincere sympathy for 
this man, representative of two hundred hard-working, 
industrious people, in danger of being turned out of 
house and home. But they were very busy ; they 
had to say curtly, and in few words, all there was to 
be said : the San Pasquale district was certainly the 
property of the United States Government, and the 
lands were in market, to be filed on, and bought, ac- 
cording to the homestead laws. These officials had 
neither authority nor option in the matter. They 
were there simply to carry out instructions, and obey 
orders. 

Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though 
the details were beyond his comprehension. But 
he did not regret having taken the journey ; he had 
now made his last effort for his people. The Los 
Angeles priest had promised that he would himself 
write a letter to Washington, to lay the case before 
the head men there, and perhaps something would 
be done for their relief. It seemed incredible to 
Ysidro, as, riding along day after day, on his sad home- 
ward journey, he reflected on the subject, — it seemed 
incredible to him that the Government would permit 
such a village as theirs to be destroyed. He reached 
home just at sunset; and looking down, as Alessandro 
and Ramona had done on the morning of their arrival, 
from the hill-crests at the west end of the valley, see- 
ing the broad belt of cultivated fields and orchards, the 


RAMONA. 


349 


peaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. “ If the 
people who make these laws could only see this vil- 
lage, they would never turn us out, never! They 
can’t know what is being done. I am sure they can’t 
know.” 

“ What did I tell you ? ” cried Alessandro, gallop- 
ing up on Benito, and reining him in so sharply 
he reared and plunged. “ What did I tell you ? I saw 
by your face, many paces back, that you had come as 
you went, or worse ! I have been watching for you 
these two days. Another American has come in with 
Morong in the cahon ; they are making corrals ; they 
will keep stock. You will see how long we have 
any pasture-lands in that end of the valley. I drive 
all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sell it 
for what it will bring, — both the cattle and the sheep. 
It is no use. You will see.” 

When Ysidro began to recount his interview 
with the land-office authorities, Alessandro broke 
in fiercely : “ I wish to hear no more of it. Their 
names and their speech are like smoke in my eyes 
and my nose. I think I shall go mad, Ysidro. Go 
tell your story to the men who are waiting to hear 
it, and who yet believe that an American may speak 
truth ! ” 

Alessandro was as good as his word. The very 
next week he drove all his cattle and sheep to San 
Diego, and sold them at great loss. “ It is better 
than nothing,” he said. “ They will not now be 
sold by the sheriff, like my father’s in Temecula.” 
The money he got, he took to Father Gaspara. 
“ Father,” he said huskily, “ I have sold all my 
stock. I would not wait for the Americans to sell 
it for me, and take the money. I have not got 
much, but it is better than nothing. It will make 
that we do not starve for one year. Will you keep 
it for me, Father ? I dare not have it in San 


350 


RAMONA. 


Pasquale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula, — it 
may be to-morrow.” • 

To the Father’s suggestion that he should put the 
money in a bank in San Diego, Alessandro cried : 
“ Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder ! I 
trust no man, henceforth ; only the Church I will 
trust. Keep it for me, Father, I pray you;” and the 
Father could not refuse his imploring tone. 

“ What are your plans now ? ” he asked. 

“ Plans ! ” repeated Alessandro, — “ plans, Father ! 
Why should I make plans ? I will stay in my house 
so long as the Americans will let me. You saw our 
little house, Father ! ” His voice broke as he said 
this. “ I have large wheat-fields ; if I can get one 
more crop off them, it will be something ; but my 
land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon 
as the Americans see it, they will want it. Fare- 
well, Father. I thank you for keeping my money* 
and for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidro 
told me. Farewell.” And he was gone, and out of 
sight on the swift galloping Benito, before Father 
Gaspara bethought himself. 

“And I remembered not to ask who his wife was. 
I will look back at the record,” said the Father. 
Taking down the old volume, he ran his eye back 
over the year. Marriages were not so many in 
Father Gaspara’s parish, that the list took long to 
read. The entry of Alessandro’s marriage was blotted. 
The Father had been in haste that night. “ Ales- 
sandro Assis. Majella Fa — ” No more could be 
read. The name meant nothing to Father Gaspara. 
“ Clearly an Indian name,” he said to himself ; “ yet 
she seemed superior in every way. I wonder where 
she got it.” 

The winter wore along quietly in San Pasquale. 
The delicious soft rains set in early, promising a 
good grain year. It seemed a pity not to get in as 


RAMONA. 


351 


much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale 
people went early to ploughing new fields, — all but 
Alessandro. 

“ If I reap all I have, I will thank the saints,” he 
said. “ I will plough no more land for the robbers.” 
But after his fields were all planted, and the benefi- 
cent rains still kept on, and the hills all along the 
valley wall began to turn green earlier than ever 
before was known, he said to Ramona one morning, 
“ I think I will make one more field of wheat. 
There will be a great yield this year. Maybe we 
will be left unmolested till the harvest is over.” 

“ Oh, yes, and for many more harvests, dear Ales- 
sandro ! ” said Ramona, cheerily. “ You are always 
looking on the black side.” 

“ There is no other but the black side, Majella,” 
he replied. “ Strain my eyes as I may, on all sides 
all is black. You will see. Never any more har- 
vests in San Pasquale for us, after this. If we get 
this, we are lucky. I have seen the white men 
riding up and down in the valley, and I found some 
of their cursed bits of wood with figures on them set 
up on my land the other day ; and I pulled them 
up and burned them to ashes. But I will plough one 
more field this week ; though, I know not why it is, 
my thoughts go against it even now. But I will 
do it ; and I will not come home till night, Majella, 
for the field is too far to go and come twice. I shall 
be the whole day ploughing.” So saying, he stooped 
and kissed the baby, and then kissing Ramona, went 
out. 

Ramona stood at the door and watched him as he 
harnessed Benito and Baba to the plough. He did 
not once look back at her ; his face seemed full of 
thought, his hands acting as it were mechanically. 
After he had gone a few rods from the house, he 
stopped, stood still for some minutes meditating, 


352 


RAMONA. 


then went on irresolutely, halted again, but finally 
went on, and disappeared from sight among the low 
foot-hills to the east. Sighing deeply, Ramona turned 
back to her work. But her heart was too disquieted. 
She could not keep back the tears. 

“ How changed is Alessandro ! ” she thought. “ It 
terrifies me to see him thus. I will tell the Blessed 
Virgin about it;” and kneeling before the shrine, 
she prayed fervently and long. She rose comforted, 
and drawing the baby’s cradle out into the veranda, 
seated herself at her embroidery. Her skill with her 
needle had proved a not inconsiderable source of 
income, her fine lace- work being always taken by San 
Diego merchants, and at fairly good prices. 

It seemed to her only a short time that she had 
been sitting thus, when, glancing up at the sun, she 
saw it was near noon ; at the same moment she saw 
Alessandro approaching, with the horses: In dis- 
may, she thought, “ There is no dinner ! He said he 
would not come ! ” and springing up, was about to 
run to meet him, when she observed that he was not 
alone. A short, thick-set man was walking by his 
side ; they were talking earnestly. It was a white 
man. What did it bode ? Presently they stopped. 
She saw Alessandro lift his hand and point to the 
house, then to the tule sheds in the rear. He seemed 
to be talking excitedly ; the white man also ; they 
were both speaking at once. Ramona shivered with 
fear. Motionless she stood, straining eye and ear ; 
she could hear nothing, but the gestures told much. 
Had it come, — the thing Alessandro had said would 
come ? Were they to be driven out, — driven out 
this very day, when the Virgin had only just now 
seemed to promise her help and protection ? 

The baby stirred, waked, began to cry. Catching 
the child up to her breast, she stilled her by convul- 
sive caresses. Clasping her tight in her arms, she 


RAMONA. 


353 


walked a few steps towards Alessandro, who, seeing 
her, made an imperative gesture to her to return. 
Sick at heart, she went back to the veranda and sat 
down to wait. 

In a few moments she saw the white man count- 
ing out money into Alessandro’s hand ; then he turned 
and walked away, Alessandro still standing as if rooted 
to the spot, gazing into the palm of his hand, Benito 
and Baba slowly walking away from him unnoticed ; 
at last he seemed to rouse himself as from a trance, 
and picking up the horses’ rein«, came slowly toward 
her. Again she started to meet him ; again he made 
the same authoritative gesture to her to return ; 
and again she seated herself, trembling in every nerve 
of her body. Ramona was now sometimes afraid of 
Alessandro. When these fierce glooms seized him, 
she dreaded, she knew not what. He seemed no 
more the Alessandro she had loved. 

Deliberately, lingeringly, he unharnessed the horses 
and put them in the corral. Then still more deliber- 
ately, lingeringly, he walked to the house ; walked, 
without speaking, past Ramona, into the door. A 
lurid spot on each cheek showed burning red through 
the bronze of his skin. His eyes glittered. In 
silence Ramona followed him, and saw him draw 
from his pocket a handful of gold-pieces, fling them 
on the table, and burst into a laugh more terrible 
than any weeping, — a laugh which wrung from her 
instantly, involuntarily, the cry, “ Oh, my Alessandro ! 
my Alessandro ! What is it ? Are you mad ? ” 

“No, ray sweet Majel,” he exclaimed, turning to 
her, and flinging his arms round her and the child 
together, drawing them so close to his breast that the 
embrace hurt, — “ no, I am not mad ; but I think I 
shall soon be ! What is that gold ? The price of this 
house, Majel, and of the fields, — of all that was ours 
in San Pasquale ! To-morrow . we will go out into 
23 


354 


RAMONA. 


the world again. I will see if I can find a place the 
Americans do not want ! ” 

It did not take many words to tell the story. 
Alessandro had not been ploughing more than an 
hour, when, hearing a strange sound, he looked up 
and saw a man unloading lumber a few rods off. 
Alessandro stopped midway in the furrow and 
watched him. The man also watched Alessandro. 
Presently he came toward him, and said roughly, 
“ Look here ! Be off, will you ? This is my land. 
I’m going to build a house here.” 

Alessandro had replied, “ This was my land yester- 
day. How comes it yours to-day ? ” 

Something in the wording of this answer, or some- 
thing in Alessandro’s tone and bearing, smote the 
man’s conscience, or heart, or. what stood to him in 
the place of conscience and heart, and he said : “ Come, 
# now, my good fellow, you look like a reasonable kind 
of a fellow; you just clear out, will you, and not 
make me any trouble. You see the land ’s mine. I ’ve 
got all this land round here;” and he waved his arm, 
describing a circle ; “ three hundred and twenty 
acres, me and my brother together, and we ’re coming 
in here to settle. We got our papers from Washing- 
ton last week. It’s all right, and you may just as 
well go peaceably, as make a fuss about it. Don’t 
you see ? ” 

- Yes, Alessandro saw. He had been seeing this 
precise thing for months. Many times, in his dreams 
and in his waking thoughts, he had lived over scenes 
similar to this. An almost preternatural calm and 
wisdom seemed to be given him now. 

“ Yes, I see, Senor,” he said. “ I am not surprised. 
I knew it would come ; but I hoped it would not be 
till after harvest. I will not give you any trouble, 
Senor, because I cannot. If I could, I would. But 
I have heard all about the new law which gives all 


RAMONA. 


355 


the Indians’ lands to the- Americans. We cannot 
help ourselves. But it is very hard, Senor.” He 
paused. 

The man, confused and embarrassed, astonished 
beyond expression at being met in this way by an 
Indian, did not find words come ready to his tongue. 
“ Of course, I know it does seem a little rough on 
fellows like you, that are industrious, and have done 
some work on the land. But you see the land ’s in 
the market ; I ’ve paid my money for it.” 

“ The Senor is going to build a house ? ” asked 
Alessandro. 

“ Yes/' the man answered. “ I ’ve got my family 
in San Diego, and I want to get them settled as 
soon as I can. My wife won’t feel comfortable till 
she ’s in her own house. We ’re from the States, 
and she’s been used to having everything comfort- 
able.” 

“ I have a wife and child, Senor,” said Alessandro, 
still in the same calm, deliberate tone ; “ and we 
have a very good house of two rooms. It would save 
the Seiior’s building, if he would buy mine.” 

“ How far is it ? ” said the man. “ I can ’t tell ex- 
actly where the boundaries of my land are, for the 
stakes we set have been pulled up.” 

“Yes, Senor, I pulled them up and burned them. 
They were on my land,” replied Alessandro. “ My 
house is farther west than your stakes ; and I have 
large wheat-fields there, too, — many acres, Senor, all 
planted.” 

Here was a chance, indeed. The man’s eyes 
gleamed. He would do the handsome thing. He 
would give this fellow something for his house and 
wheat-crops. First he would see the house, however ; 
and it was for that purpose he had walked back with 
Alessandro. When he saw the neat whitewashed 
adobe, with its broad veranda, the sheds and corrals 


356 


RAMONA. 


all in good order, he instantly resolved to get posses- 
sion of them by fair means or foul. 

“There will be three hundred dollars’ worth of 
wheat in J uly, Senor, you can see for yourself ; and a 
house so good as that, you cannot build for less than 
one hundred dollars. What will you give me for 
them ? ” 

“ I suppose I can have them without paying you 
for them, if I choose,” said the man, insolently. 

“ No, Senor,” replied Alessandro. 

“ What ’s to hinder, then, I ’d like to know ! ” in a 
brutal sneer. “ You have n’t got any rights here, 
whatever, according to law.” 

“I shall hinder, Senor,” replied Alessandro. “I 
shall burn down the sheds and corrals, tear down the 
house ; and before a blade of the wheat is reaped, I 
will burn that.” Still in the same calm tone. 

“ What ’ll you take ? ” said the man, sullenly. 

“ Two hundred dollars,” replied Alessandro. 

“ Well, leave your plough and wagon, and I ’ll give 
it to you,” said the man ; “ and a big fool I am, too. 
Well laughed at, I’ll be, do you know it, for buying 
out an Indian f ” 

“The wagon, Senor, cost me one hundred and 
thirty dollars in San Diego. You cannot buy one so 
good for less. I will not sell it. I need it to take 
away my things in. The plough you may have. 
That is worth twenty.” 

“ I ’ll do it,” said the man ; and pulling out a heavy 
buckskin pouch, he counted out into Alessandro’s 
hand two hundred dollars in gold. 

“Is that all right ? ” he said, as he put down the 
last piece. 

“ That is the sum I said, Senor,” replied Alessan- 
dro. “To-morrow, at noon, you can come into the 
house.” 

“ Where will you go ? ” asked the man, again 


RAMONA. 


357 


slightly touched by Alessandro’s manner. “Why 
don’t you stay round here ? I expect you could get 
work enough ; there are a lot of farmers coming in 
here ; they ’ll want hands.” 

A fierce torrent of words sprang to Alessandro’s 
lips, but he choked them back. “ I do not know 
where I shall go, but I will not stay here,” he said ; 
and that ended the interview. 

“ I don’t know as I blame him a mite for feeling 
that way,” thought the man from the States, as he 
walked slowly back to his pile of lumber. “ I expect 
I should feel just so myself.” 

Almost before Alessandro had finished this tale, he 
began to move about the room, taking down, folding 
up, opening and shutting lids ; his restlessness was 
terrible to see. “ By sunrise, I would like to be off,” 
he said: “ It is like death, to be in the house which 
is no longer ours.” Bamona had spoken no word 
since her first cry on hearing that terrible laugh. 
She was like one stricken dumb. The shock was 
greater to her than to Alessandro. He had lived 
with it ever present in his thoughts for a year. She 
had always hoped. But far more dreadful than the 
loss of her home, was the anguish of seeing, hear- 
ing, the changed face, changed voice, of Alessandro. 
Almost this swallowed up the other. She obeyed 
him mechanically, working faster and faster as he 
grew more and more feverish in his haste. Before 
sundown the little house was dismantled; every- 
thing, except the bed and the stove, packed in the 
big wagon. 

“ Now, we must cook food for the journey,” said 
Alessandro. 

« Where are we going ? ” said the weeping Ramona. 

“ Where ?” ejaculated Alessandro, so scornfully 
that it sounded like impatience with Ramona, and 
made her tears flow afresh. “ Where ? I know not. 


358 


RAMONA. 


Majella ! Into the mountains, where the white men 
come not ! At sunrise we will start.” 

Eamona wished to say good-by to their friends. 
There were women in the village that she tenderly 
loved. But Alessandro was unwilling. “ There 
will be weeping and crying, Majella; I pray you 
do not speak to one. Why should we have more 
tears ? Let us disappear. I will say all to Ysidro. 
He will tell them.” 

This was a sore grief to Ramona. In her heart 
she rebelled against it, as she had never yet rebelled 
against an act of Alessandro’s ; but she could not 
distress him. Was not his burden heavy enough 
now ? 

Without a word of farewell to any one, they set off 
in the gray dawn, before a creature was stirring in 
the village, — the wagon piled high; Ramona, her 
baby in her arms, in front ; Alessandro walking. The 
load was heavy. Benito and Baba walked slowly. 
Capitan, unhappy, looking first at Ramona’s face, 
then at Alessandro’s, walked dispiritedly by their 
side. He knew all was wrong. 

As Alessandro turned the horses into a faintly 
marked road leading in a northeasterly direction, 
Ramona said with a sob, “ Where does this road lead, 
Alessandro ? ” 

“To San Jacinto,” he said. “San Jacinto Moun- 
tain. Do not look back, Majella ! Do not look 
back I ” he cried, as he saw Ramona, with streaming 
eyes, gazing back towards San Pasquale. “Do not 
look back ! It is gone ! Pray to the saints now, 
Majella ! Pray ! Pray ! ” 


XXI. 


T HE Senora Moreno was dying. It had been a 
sad two years in the Moreno house. After the 
first excitement following Ramona’s departure had 
died away, things had settled down in a surface 
similitude of their old routine. But nothing was 
really the same. No one was so happy as before. 
Juan Canito was heart-broken. There had been set 
over him the very Mexican whose coming to the 
place he had dreaded. The sheep had not done 
well ; there had been a drought ; many had died of 
hunger, — a thing for which the new Mexican over- 
seer was not to blame, though it pleased Juan to hold 
him so, and to say from morning till night that 
if his leg had not been broken, or if the lad Ales- 
sandro had been there, the wool-crop would have 
been as big as ever. Not one of the servants liked 
this Mexican ; he had a sorry time of it, poor fellow ; 
each man and woman on the place had or fancied 
some reason for being set against him ; some from 
sympathy with Juan Can, some from idleness and 
general impatience; Margarita, most of all, because 
he was not Alessandro. Margarita, between re- 
morse about her young mistress and pique and dis- 
appointment about Alessandro, had be'come a very 
unhappy girl ; and her mother, instead of comforting 
or soothing her, added to her misery by continually 
bemoaning Ramona’s fate. The void that Ramona 
had left in the whole household seemed an irrepara- 
ble one ; nothing came to fill it ; there was no forget- 
ting ; every day her name was mentioned by some 


360 


RAM Oft A. 


one ; mentioned with bated breath, fearful conjecture, 
compassion, and regret. Where had she vanished ? 
Had she indeed gone to the convent, as- she said, or 
had she fled with Alessandro ? 

Margarita would have given her right hand to 
know. Only Juan Can felt sure. Very well Juan 
Can knew that nobody but Alessandro had the wit 
and the power over Baba to lure him out of that corral, 
“and never a rail out of its place.” And the saddle, 
too ! Ay, the smart lad ! He had done the best he 
could for the Senorita ; but, Holy Virgin ! what had 
got into the Senorita to run off like that, with an 
Indian, — even Alessandro ! The fiends had bewitched 
her. Tirelessly Juan Can questioned every traveller, 
every wandering herder he saw. No one knew any- 
thing of Alessandro, beyond the fact that all the Te- 
mecula Indians had been driven out of their village, 
and that there was now not an Indian in the valley. 
There was a rumor that Alessandro and his father 
had both died ; but no one knew anything certainly. 
The Temecula Indians had disappeared, that was all 
there was of it, — disappeared, like any wild creatures, 
foxes or coyotes ; hunted down, driven out ; the val- 
ley was rid of them. But the Senorita ! She was 
not with these fugitives. That could not be ! Heaven 
forbid ! 

“ If I ’d my legs, I ’d go and see for myself ! ” said 
Juan Can. “ It would be some comfort to know 
even the worst. Perdition take the Senora, who 
drove her to it ! Ay, drove her to it ! That ’s what 
I say, Luigo.” In some of his most venturesome 
wrathy moments he would say : “ There ’s none of 
you know the truth about the Senorita but me ! It ’s 
a hard hand the Senora ’s reared her with, from the 
first. She ’s a wonderful woman, our Senora ! She 
gets power over one.” 

But the Senora’s power was shaken now. More 


RAMONA. 


361 


changed than all else in the changed Moreno house- 
hold, was the relation between the Seiiora Moreno 
and her son Felipe. On the morning after Ramona’s 
disappearance, words had been spoken by each which 
neither would ever forget. In fact, the Seiiora believed 
that it was of them she was dying, and perhaps that 
was not far from the truth; the reason that forces 
could no longer rally in her to repel disease, lying 
no doubt largely in the fact that to live seemed no 
longer to her desirable. 

Felipe had found the note Ramona had laid on his 
bed. Before it was yet dawn he had waked, and 
tossing uneasily under the light covering had heard 
the rustle of the paper, and knowing instinctively 
that it was from Ramona, had risen instantly to make 
sure of it. Before his mother opened her window, 
he had read it. He felt like one bereft of his senses 
as he read. Gone ! Gone with Alessandro ! Stolen 
away like a thief in the night, his dear, sweet little 
sister ! Ah, what a cruel shame ! Scales seemed to 
drop from Felipe’s eyes as he lay motionless, think- 
ing of it. A shame ! a cruel shame ! And he and 
his mother were the ones who had brought it on 
Ramona’s head, and on the house of Moreno. Felipe 
felt as if he had been under a spell all along, not to 
have realized this. “ That ’s what I told my mother ! ” 
he groaned, — “ that it drove her to running away ! 
Oh, my sweet Ramona ! what will become of her ? I 
will go after them, and bring them back ; ” and Felipe 
rose, and hastily dressing himself, ran down the ve- 
randa steps, to gaiVi a little more time to think. He 
returned shortly, to meet his mother standing in the 
doorway, with pale, affrighted face. 

“ Felipe ! ” she cried, <c Ramona is not here.” 

“ I know it,” he replied in an angry tone. “ That is 
what I told you we should do, — drive her to running 
away with Alessandro ! ” 


362 


RAMONA. 


“ With Alessandro ! ” interrupted the Senora. 

Yes/’ continued Felipe, — “ with Alessandro, the 
Indian ! Perhaps you think it is less disgrace to the 
names of Ortegna and Moreno to have her run away 
with him, than to be married to him here under 
our roof ! I do not ! Curse the day, I say, when I 
ever lent myself to breaking the girl’s heart ! I am 
going after them, to fetch them back ! ” 

If the skies had opened and rained fire, the Senora 
had hardly less quailed and wondered than she did 
at these words ; but even for fire from the skies she 
would not surrender till she must. 

“ How know you that it is with Alessandro ? ” she 
said. 

“ Because she has written it here ! ” cried Felipe, 
defiantly holding up his little note. “ She left this, 
her good-by to me. Bless her ! She writes like a 
saint, to thank me for all my goodnbss to her, — I, 
who drove her to steal out of my house like a 
thief!” 

The phrase, “ my house,” smote the Senora’s ear like 
a note from some other sphere, which indeed it was, 
— from the new world into which Felipe had been in 
an hour born. Her cheeks flushed, and she opened 
her lips to reply ; but before she had uttered a word, 
Luigo came running round the corner, Juan Can hob- 
bling after him at a miraculous pace on his crutches. 
“ Senor Felipe! Senor Felipe! Oh, Senora!” they 
cried. “ Thieves have been here in the night ! Baba 
is gone, — Baba, and the Seiiorita’s saddle.” 

A malicious smile broke over the Senora’s counte- 
nance, and turning to Felipe, she said in a tone — 
what a tone it was ! Felipe felt as if he must put 
his hands to his ears to shut it out ; Felipe would 
never forget, — “ As you were saying, like a thief in 
the night!” 

With a swifter and more energetic movement than 


RAMONA. 


363 


any had ever before seen Senor Felipe make, he stepped 
forward, saying in an undertone to his mother, “ For 
God’s sake, mother, not a word before the men ! — 
What is that you say, Luigo ? Baba gone ? We 
must see to our corral. I will come down, after 
breakfast, and look at it ; ” and turning his back on 
them, he drew his mother by a firm grasp, she could 
not resist, into the house. 

She gazed at him in sheer, dumb wonder. 

“ Ay, mother,” he said, “ you may well look thus 
in wonder; I have been no man, to let my foster- 
sister, I care not what blood were in her veins, 
be driven to this pass ! I will set out this day, and 
bring her back.” 

“ The day you do that, then, I lie in this house 
dead ! ” retorted the Seiiora, at white heat. “ You 
may rear as many Indian families as you please under 
the Moreno roof, I will at least have my grave ! ” In 
spite of her anger, grief convulsed her ; and in another 
second she had burst into tears, and sunk helpless 
and trembling into a chair. No counterfeiting now. 
No pretences. The Seiiora Moreno’s heart broke 
within her, when those words passed her lips to her 
adored Felipe. At the sight, Felipe flung himself 
on his knees before her ; he kissed the aged hands 
as they lay trembling in her lap. “ Mother mia,” he 
cried, “you will break my heart if you speak like 
that ! Oh, why, why do you command me to do what 
a man may not ? I would die for you, my mother ; 
but how can I see my sister a homeless wanderer in 
the wilderness ? ” 

“ I suppose the man Alessandro has something he 
calls a home,” said the Senora, regaining herself a 
little. “ Had they no plans ? Spoke she not in her 
letter of what they would do ? ” 

“ Only that they would go to Father Salvierderra 
first,” he replied. 


364 


RAMONA. 


« Ah ! ” The Senora reflected. At first startled, 
her second thought was that this would be the best 
possible thing which could happen. “ Father Sal- 
vierderra will counsel them what to do,” she said. 
“ He could no doubt establish them in Santa Bar- 
bara in some way. My son, when you reflect, you will 
see the impossibility of bringing them here. Help 
them in any way you like, but do not bring them 
here.” She paused. “ Not until I am dead, Felipe ! 
It will not be long.” 

Felipe bowed- his head in his mother’s lap. She. 
laid her hands on his hair, and stroked it with passion- 
ate tenderness. “ My Felipe ! ” she said. “ It was a 
cruel fate to rob me of you at the last ! ” 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” he cried in anguish. “ I am 
yours, — wholly, devotedly yours ! Why do you 
torture me thus ? ” 

“ I will not torture you more,” she said wearily, 
in a feeble tone. “ I ask only one thing of you ; let 
me never hear again the name of that wretched girl, 
who has brought all this woe on our house ; let her 
name never be spoken on this place by man, woman, 
or child. Like a thief in the night ! Ay, a horse- 
thief ! ” 

Felipe sprang to his feet. 

“ Mother ! ” he said, “ Baba was Bamona’s own ; I 
myself gave him to her as soon as he was born ! ” 

The Senora made no reply. She had fainted. 
Calling the maids; in terror and sorrow Felipe bore 
her to her bed, and she did not leave it for many 
days. She seemed hovering between life and death. 
Felipe watched over her as a lover might ; her great 
mournful eyes followed his every motion. She spoke 
little, partly because of physical weakness, partly 
from despair. The Senora had got her death-blow. 
She would diehard. It would take long. Yet she was 
dying, and she knew it. 


RAMONA. 


365 


Felipe did not know it. When he saw her going 
about again, with a step only a little slower than 
before, and with a countenance not so much changed 
as he had feared, he thought she would be well again, 
after a time. And now he would go in search of 
Ramona. How he hoped he should find them in 
Santa Barbara ! He must leave them there, or wher- 
ever he should find them ; never again would he for a 
moment contemplate the possibility of bringing them 
home with him. But he would see them ; help them, 
if need be. Ramona should not feel herself an out- 
cast, so long as he lived. 

When he said, agitatedly, to his mother, one night, 
“ You are so strong now, mother, I think I will take 
a journey; I will not be away long, — not over a 
week,” she understood, and with a deep sigh replied : 
“ I am not strong ; but I am as strong as I shall ever 
be. If the journey must be taken, it is as well done 
now.” 

How was the Senora changed ! 

“It must be, mother,” said Felipe, “ or I would not 
leave you. I will set off before sunrise, so I will say 
farewell to-night.” 

But in the morning, at his first step, his mother’s 
wdndow opened, and there she stood, wan, speechless, 
looking at him. “ You must go, my son ? ” she asked 
at last. 

“ I must, mother ! ” and Felipe threw his arms around 
her, and kissed her again and again. “ Dearest mother ! 
Do smile ! Can you not ? ” 

“No, my son, I cannot. Farewell. The saints 
keep you. Farewell.” And she turned, that she 
might not see him go. 

Felipe rode away with a sad heart, but his purpose 
did not falter. Following straight down the river road 
to the sea, he then kept up along the coast, asking 
here and there, cautiously, if persons answering to the 


366 


RAMONA . 


description of Alessandro and Ramona had been seen. 
No one had seen any such persons. 

When, on the night of the second day, he rode up 
to the Santa Barbara Mission, the first figure he saw 
was the venerable Father Salvierderra sitting in the 
corridor. As Felipe approached, the old man’s face 
beamed with pleasure, and he came forward totter- 
ingly, leaning on a staff in each hand. “ Welcome, 
my son ! ” he said. “ Are all well ? You find me very 
feeble just now ; my legs are failing me sorely this 
autumn.” 

Dismay seized on Felipe at the Father’s first words. 
He would not have spoken thus, had he seen Ramona. 
Barely replying to the greeting, Felipe exclaimed: 
“ Father, I come seeking Ramona. Has she not been 
with you ? ” 

Father Salvierderra’s face was reply to the ques- 
tion. “ Ramona ! ” he cried. “ Seeking Ramona ! 
What has befallen the blessed child?” 

It was a bitter story for Felipe to tell ; but he told 
it, sparing himself no shame. He would have suffered 
less in* the telling, had he known how well Father 
Salvierderra understood his mother’s character, and 
her almost unlimited power over all persons around 
her. Father Salvierderra was not shocked at the news 
of Ramona’s attachment for Alessandro. He regretted 
it, but he did not think it shame, as the Senora had 
done. As Felipe talked with him, he perceived even 
more clearly how bitter and unjust his mother had 
been to Alessandro. 

“ He is a noble young man,” said Father Salvier- 
derra. “ His father was one of the most trusted of 
Father Peyri’s assistants. You must find them, Felipe. 
I wonder much they did not come to me. Perhaps 
they may yet come. When you find them, bear them 
my blessing, and say that I wish they would come 
hither. I would like to give them my blessing be- 


RAMONA . 367 

fore I die. Felipe, I shall never leave Santa Barbara 
again. My time draws near.” 

Felipe was so full of impatience to continue his 
search, that he hardly listened to the Father’s words. 
“ I will not tarry,” he said. “I cannot rest till I 
find her. I will ride hack as far as Ventura to- 
night.” 

“ You will send me word by a messenger, when you 
find them,” said the Father. “God grant no harm 
has befallen them. I will pray for them, Felipe ; ” 
and he tottered into the church. 

Felipe’s thoughts, as he retraced his road k were full 
of bewilderment and pain. He was wholly at loss to 
conjecture what course Alessandro and Bamona had 
taken, or what could have led them to abandon their 
intention of going to Father Salvierderra. Temecula 
seemed the only place, now, to look for them ; and 
yet from Temecula Felipe had heard, only a few days 
before leaving home, that there was not an Indian 
left in the valley. But he could at least learn there 
where the Indians had gone. Poor as the clew 
seemed, it was all he had. Cruelly Felipe urged his 
horse on his return journey. He grudged an hour’s 
rest to himself or to the beast ; and before he reached 
the head of the Temecula canon the creature was 
near spent. At the steepest part he jumped off and 
walked, to save her strength. As he was toiling 
slowly up a narrow, rocky pass, he suddenly saw an 
Indian’s head peering over the ledge. He made 
signs to him to come down. The Indian turned his 
head, and spoke to some one behind ; one after an- 
other a score of figures rose. They made signs to 
Felipe to come up. “ Poor things ! ” he thought ; 
“ they are afraid.” He shouted to them that bis 
horse was too tired to climb that wall ; hut if they 
would come down, he would give them money, hold- 
ing up a gold-piece. They consulted among them- 


368 


RAMONA. 


selves ; presently they began slowly descending, still 
halting at intervals, and looking suspiciously at him. 
He held up the gold again, and beckoned. As soon 
as they could see his face distinctly, they broke into 
a run. That was no enemy’s face. 

Only one of the number could speak Spanish. On 
hearing this man’s reply to Felipe’s first question, a 
woman, who had listened sharply and caught the 
word Alessandro, came forward, and spoke rapidly in 
the Indian tongue. 

“ This woman has seen Alessandro,” said the man. 

“Where ?” said Felipe, breathlessly 

“ In Temecula, two weeks ago,” he said. 

“ Ask her if he had any one with him,” said 
Felipe. 

“No,” said the woman. “ He was alone.” 

A convulsion passed over Felipe’s face. “Alone!” 
What did this mean! He reflected. The woman 
watched him. “ Is she sure he was alone ; there was 
no one with him ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Was he riding a big black horse ? ” 

“No, a white horse,” answered the woman, 
promptly. “ A small white horse.” 

It w T as Carmen a, every nerve of her loyal nature 
on the alert to baffle this pursuer of Alessandro and 
Kamona. Again Felipe reflected. “Ask her if she 
saw him for any length of time ; how long she saw 
him.” 

“ All night,” he answered. “ He spent the night 
where she did.” 

Felipe despaired. “Does she know where he is 
now ? ” lie asked. 

“ He was going to San Luis Obispo, to go in a ship 
to Monterey.” 

“What to do?” 

“ She does not know.” 


RAMONA. 


369 


“ Did he say when he would come bach ? ” 

« Yes ” 

“ When ? ” 

“Never! He said he would never set foot in 
Temecula again.” 

“ Does she know him well ? ” 

“ As well as her own brother.” 

What more could Felipe ask? With a groan, 
wrung from the very depths of his heart, he tossed 
the man a gold-piece ; another to the woman. “ I 
am sorry,” he said. “Alessandro was my friend. 
I wanted to see him ; ” and he rode away, Carmena’s 
eyes following him with a covert gleam of triumph. 

When these last words of his were interpreted 
to her, she started, made as if she would run 
after him, but checked herself. “ No,” she thought. 
“ It may be a lie. He may be an enemy, for all 
that. I will not tell. Alessandro wished not to be 
found. I will not tell.” 

And thus vanished the last chance of succor for 
Bamona ; vanished in a moment ; blown like a 
thistle-down on a chance breath, — the breath of a 
loyal, loving friend, speaking a lie to save her. 

Distraught with grief, Felipe returned home. Ba- 
mona had been very ill when she left home. Had 
she died, and been buried by the lonely, sorrowing 
Alessandro ? And was that the reason Alessandro 
was going away to the North, never to return ? Fool 
that he was, to have shrunk from speaking Bamona’s 
name to the Indians ! He would return, and ask 
again. As soon as he had seen his mother, he would 
set off again, and never cease searching till he had 
found either Bamona or her grave. But when Felipe 
entered his mother’s presence, his first look in her 
face told him that he would not leave her side 
again until he had laid her at rest in the tomb. 

°“ Thank God ! you have come, Felipe,” she said in 
24 


370 


RAMONA. 


a feeble voice. “ I had begun to fear you would not 
come in time to say farewell to me. I am going to 
leave you, my son ; ” and the tears rolled down her 
cheeks. 

Though she no longer wished to live, neither did 
she wish to die, — this poor, proud, passionate, de- 
feated, bereft Senora. All the consolations of her 
religion seemed to fail her. She had prayed inces- 
santly, but got no peace. She fixed her imploring 
eyes on the Virgin’s face and on the saints ; but all 
seemed to her to wear a forbidding look. “ If Father 
Salvierderra would only come ! ” she groaned. “ He 
could give me peace. If only I can live till he comes 
again ! ” 

When Felipe told her of the old man’s feeble state, 
and that he would never again make the journey, she 
turned her face to the wall and wept. Not only for 
her own soul’s help did she wish to see him: she 
wished to put into his Rands the Ortegna jewels. 
What would become of them ? To whom should she 
transfer the charge ? Was there a secular priest 
within reach that she could trust ? When her sister 
had said, in her instructions, “ the Church,” she 
meant, as the Senora Moreno well knew, the Fran- 
ciscans. The Senora dared not consult Felipe;- yet 
she must. Day by day these fretting anxieties and 
perplexities wasted her strength, and her fever grew 
higher and higher. She asked no questions as to the 
result of Felipe’s journey, and he dared not mention 
Ramona’s name. At last he could bear it no longer, 
and one day said, “Mother, I found no trace of 
Ramona. I have not the least idea where she is. 
The Father had not seen her or heard of her. I fear 
she is dead.” 

“ Better so,” was the Senora’s sole reply ; and she 
fell again into still deeper, more perplexed thought 
about the hidden treasure. Each day she resolved, 


RAMONA. 


371 


“ To-morrow I will tell Felipe and when to-morrow 
came, she put it off again. Finally she decided not 
to do it till she found herself dying. Father Sal- 
vierderra might yet come once more, and then all 
would be well. With trembling hands she wrote 
him a letter, imploring him to be brought to her, and 
sent it by messenger, who was empowered to hire a 
litter and four men to bring the Father gently and 
carefully all the way. But when the messenger 
reached Santa Barbara, Father Salvierderra was too 
feeble to be moved; too feeble even to write. He 
could write only by amanuensis, and wrote, therefore, 
guardedly, sending her his blessing, and saying that 
he hoped her foster-child might yet be restored to 
the keeping of her friends. The Father had been in 
sore straits of mind, as month after month had 
passed without tidings of his “ blessed child.” 

Soon after this came the news that the Father 
was dead. This dealt the Seiiora a terrible blow. 
She never left her bed after it. And so the year had 
worn on ; and Felipe, mourning over his sinking and 
failing mother, and haunted by terrible fears about 
the lost Ramona, had been tortured indeed. 

But the end drew near, now. The Seiiora was 
plainly dying. The Ventura doctor had left off com- 
ing," saying that he could do no more ; nothing re- 
mained but to give her what ease was possible ; in a 
day or two more all would be over. Felipe hardly 
left her bedside. Rarely was mother so loved and 
nursed by son. Ho daughter could have shown more 
tenderness and devotion. In the close relation and 
affection of these last days, the sense of alienation 
and antagonism faded from both their hearts. 

“ My adorable Felipe ! ” she would murmur. 
“ What a son hast thou been ! ” And, “ My beloved 
mother ! How shall I give you up ? ” Felipe would 
reply, bowing his head on her hands, — so wasted now, 


372 


RAMONA. 


so white, so weak ; those hands which had been cruel 
and strong little more than one short year ago. Ah, 
no one could refuse to forgive the Senora now ! The 
gentle Ramona, had she seen her, had wept tears of 
pity. Her eyes wore at times a look almost of terror. 
It was the secret. How should she speak it ? What 
would Felipe say ? At last the moment came. She 
had been with difficulty roused from a long fainting ; 
one more such would be the last, she knew, — knew 
even better than those around her. As she regained 
consciousness, she gasped, “ Felipe ! Alone !” 

He understood, and waved the rest away. 

“ Alone ! ” she said again, turning her eyes to the 
door. 

“ Leave the room,” said Felipe ; “ all — wait out- 
side ; ” and he closed the door on them. Even then 
the Senora hesitated. Almost was she ready to 
go out of life leaving the hidden treasure to its 
chance of discovery, rather than with her own lips 
reveal to Felipe what she saw now, saw with the 
terrible, relentless clear-sightedness of death, would 
make him, even after she was in her grave, reproach 
her in his thoughts. 

But she dared not withhold it. It must be said. 
Pointing to the statue of Saint Catharine, whose face 
seemed, she thought, to frow T n unforgiving upon her, 
she said, “ Felipe — behind that statue — look ! ” 

Felipe thought her delirious, and said tenderly, 
“ Nothing is there, dearest mother. Be calm. I am 
here.” 

New terror seized the dying woman. Was she to 
be forced to carry the secret to the grave ? to be de- 
nied this late avowal ? “No! no ! Felipe — there is 
a door there — secret door. Look ! Open ! I must 
tell you ! ” 

Hastily Felipe moved the statue. There was indeed 
the door, as she had said. 


RAMONA. 


373 


“ Do not tell me now, mother dear. Wait till you 
are stronger,” he said. As he spoke, he turned, and 
saw, with alarm, his mother sitting upright in the 
bed, her right arm outstretched, her hand pointing to 
the door, her eyes in a glassy stare, her face convulsed. 
Before a cry could pass his lips, she had fallen back. 
The Senora Moreno was dead. 

At Felipe’s cry, the women waiting in the hall 
hurried in, wailing aloud as their first glance showed 
them all was over. In the confusion, Felipe, with a 
pale, set face, pushed the statue back into its place. 
Even then a premonition of horror swept over him. 
What was he, the son, to find behind that secret door, 
at sight of which his mother had died with that look 
of anguished terror in her eyes ? All through the sad 
duties of the next four days Felipe was conscious of 
the undercurrent of this premonition. The funeral 
ceremonies were impressive. The little chapel could 
not hold the quarter part of those who came, from 
far and near. Everybody wished to do honor to the 
Seiiora Moreno. A priest from Yentura and one from 
San Luis Obispo were there. When all was done, 
they bore the Senora to the little graveyard on the 
hillside, and laid her by the side of her husband and 
her children ; silent and still at last, the restless, 
passionate, proud, sad heart ! When, the night after 
the funeral, the servants saw Senor Felipe going into 
his mother’s room, they shuddered, and whispered, 
“ OK) he must not ! He will break his heart, Senor 
Felipe ! How he loved her ! ” 

Old Marda ventured to follow him, and at the 
threshold said: “Dear Senor Felipe, do not! It is 
not good to go there ! Come away ! ” 

But he put her gently by, saying, “ I would rather 
be here, good Marda ; ” and went in and locked the 
door. 

It was past midnight when he came out. His face 


374 


RAMONA. 


was stern. He had buried his mother again. Well 
might the Senora have dreaded to tell to Felipe the 
tale of the Ortegna treasure. Until he reached 
the bottom of the jewel-box, and found the Senora 
Ortegna’s letter to his mother, he was in entire 
bewilderment at all he saw. After he had read this 
letter, he sat motionless for a long time, his head 
buried in his hands. His soul was wrung. 

“ And she thought that shame, and not this ! ” he 
said bitterly. 

But one thing remained for Felipe now. If Ra- 
mona lived, he would find her, and restore to her this 
her rightful property. If she were dead, it must go 
to the Santa Barbara College. 

“ Surely my mother must have intended to give it 
to the Church,” he said. “ But why keep it all this 
time ? It is this that has killed her. Oh, shame ! 
oh, disgrace ! ” From the grave in which Felipe had 
buried his mother now, was no resurrection. 

Replacing everything as before in the safe hiding- 
place, he sat down and wrote a letter to the Superior 
of the Santa Barbara College, telling him of the 
existence of these valuables, which in certain contin- 
gencies would belong to the College. Early in the 
morning he gave this letter to Juan Canito, saying: 
“I am going away, Juan, on a journey. If anything 
happens to me, and I do not return, send this letter 
by trusty messenger to Santa Barbara.” 

“ Will you be long away, Senor Felipe?” asked the 
old man, piteously. 

“ I cannot tell, Juan,” replied Felipe. “ It may be 
only a short time ; it may be long. I leave every- 
thing in your care. You will do all according to 
your best judgment, I know. I will say to all that 
I have left you in charge.” 

“ Thanks, Senor F elipe ! Thanks ! ” exclaimed J uan, 
happier than he had been for two years. “Indeed, 


RAMONA. 


375 


you may trust me ! From the time you were a boy 
till now, I have had no thought except for your 
house.” 

Even in heaven the Senora Moreno had felt woe 
as if in hell, had she known the thoughts with which 
her Felipe galloped this morning out of the gate- 
way through which, only the day before, he had 
walked weeping behind her body borne to burial. 

" And she thought this no shame to the house of 
Moreno ! ” he said. “ My God ! ” 


XXII. 


D UKING- the first day of Bamona’ s and Alessan- 
dro’s sad journey they scarcely spoke. Ales- 
sandro walked at the horses’ heads, his face sunk on 
his breast, his eyes fixed on the ground. Bamona 
watched him in anxious fear. Even the baby’s voice 
and cooing laugh won from him no response. After, 
they were camped for the night, she said, “Dear 
Alessandro, will you not tell me where we are going ? ” 
In spite of her gentleness, there was a shade of 
wounded feeling in her tone. Alessandro flung him- 
self on his knees before her, and cried : “ My Majella ! 
my Majella ! it seems to me I am going mad! I can- 
not tell what to do. I do not know what I think ; all 
my thoughts seem whirling round as leaves do in 
brooks in the time of the spring rains. Do you 
think I can be going mad ? It was enough to make 
me ! ” 

Bamona, her own heart wrung with fear, soothed 
him as best she could. “ Dear Alessandro,” she said, 
“let us go to Los Angeles, and not live with the 
Indians any more. You could get work there. You 
could play at dances sometimes ; there must be 
plenty of work. I could get more sewing to do, too. 
It would be better, I think.” 

He looked horror-stricken at the thought. “ Go 
live among the white people ! ” he cried. “ What 
does Majella think would become of one Indian, or 
two, alone among whites ? If they will come to our 
villages and drive us out a hundred at a time, what 
would they do to one man alone ? Oh, Majella is 
foolish!” 


RAMONA . 


377 


“ But there are many of your people at work for 
whites at San Bernardino and other places/’ she per- 
sisted. “ Why could not we do as they do ? ” 

“Yes,” he said bitterly, “at work for whites; so 
they are! Majella has not seen. No man will pay 
an Indian but half wages ; even long ago, when the 
Fathers were not all gone, and tried to help the In- 
dians, my father has told me that it was the way 
only to pay an Indian one-half that a white man or 
a Mexican had. It was the Mexicans, too, did that, 
Majella. And now they pay the Indians in money 
sometimes, half wages; sometimes in bad flour, or 
things he does not want ; sometimes in whiskey ; 
and if he will not take it, and asks for his money, 
they laugh, and tell him to go, then. One man in 
San Bernardino last year, when an Indian would not 
take a bottle of sour wine for pay for a day’s work, 
shot him in the cheek with his pistol, and told him 
to mind how he was insolent any more ! Oh, Ma- 
jella, do not ask me to go work in the towns ! I 
should kill some man, Majella, if I saw things like 
that." 

Bamona shuddered, and was silent. Alessandro 
continued : “ If Majella would not be afraid, I know 
a place, high up on the mountain, where no white man 
has ever been, or ever will be. I found it when I was 
following a bear. The beast led me up. It was his 
home ; and I said then, it was a fit hiding-place for a 
man. There is water, and a little green valley. We 
could live there; but it would be no more than to 
live ; it is very small, the valley. Majella would be 
afraid ? ” 

“ Yes, Alessandro, I would be afraid, all alone on 
a high mountain. Oh, do not let us go there ! Try 
something else first, Alessandro. Is there no other 
Indian village you know ? ’’ 

“ There is Saboba/’ he said, “ at foot of the San 


378 


RAMONA. 


Jacinto Mountain ; I had thought of that. Some of my 
people went there from Temecula ; but it is a poor 
little village, Majella. Majella would not like to live in 
it. Neither do I believe it will long be any safer than 
San Pasquale. There was a kind, good old man who 
owned all that valley, — Seiior Ravallo ; he found the 
village of Saboba there when he came to the country. 
It is one of the very oldest of all ; he was good to all 
Indians, and he said they should never be disturbed, 
never. He is dead ; but his three sons have the estate 
yet, and I think they would keep their father’s prom- 
ise to the Indians. But you see, to-morrow, Majella, 
they may die, or go back to Mexico, as Seiior Yaldez 
did, and then the Americans will get it, as they 
did Temecula. And there are already white men liv- 
iiag in the valley. We will go that way, Majella. 
Majella shall see. If she says stay, we will stay.” 

It was in the early afternoon that they entered the 
broad valley of San Jacinto. They entered it from 
the west. As they came in, though the sky over 
their heads was overcast and gray, the eastern and 
northeastern part of the valley was flooded with a 
strange light, at once ruddy and golden. It was a 
glorious sight. The jagged top and spurs of San 
Jacinto Mountain shone like the turrets and pos- 
terns of a citadel built of rubies. The glow seemed 
preternatural. 

“ Behold San Jacinto ! ” cried Alessandro. 

Ramona exclaimed in delight. “ It is an omen ! ” 
she said. “ We are going into the sunlight, out of 
the shadow ; ” and she glanced back at the west, which 
was of a slaty blackness. 

“I like it not!” said Alessandro. “ The shadow 
follows too fast ! ” 

Indeed it did. Even as he spoke, a fierce wind 
blew from the north, and tearing off fleeces from 
the black cloud, sent them in scurrying masses across 


RAMONA. 379 

the sky. In a moment more, snow-flakes began to 
fall. 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” cried Alessandro. Too well he 
knew what it meant. He urged the horses, running 
fast beside them. It was of no use. Too much even 
for Baba and Benito to make any haste, with the 
heavily loaded wagon. 

“ There is an old sheep-corral and a hut not over 
a mile farther, if we could but reach it ! ” groaned 
Alessandro. “ Majella, you and the child will freeze.” 

“ She is warm on my breast,” said Ramona ; “ but, 
Alessandro, what ice in this wind ! It is like a knife 
at my back ! ” 

Alessandro uttered another ejaculation of dismay. 
The snow was fast thickening ; already the track was 
covered. The wind lessened. 

“ Thank God, that wind no longer cuts as it did,” 
said Ramona, her teeth chattering, clasping the baby 
closer and closer. 

“ I would rather it blew than not,” said Alessan- 
dro ; “ it will carry the snow before it. A little more 
of this, and we cannot see, any more than in the 
night.” 

Still thicker and faster fell the snow ; the air was 
dense ; it was, as Alessandro had said, worse than the 
darkness of night, — this strange opaque whiteness, 
thick, choking, freezing one’s breath. Presently the 
rough jolting of the wagon showed that they were off 
the road. The horses stopped ; refused to go on. 

“ We are lost, if we stay here ! ” cried Alessandro. 
“Come, my Benito, come !” and he took him by the 
head, and pulled him by main force back into the 
road, and led him along. It was terrible. Ramona’s 
heart sank within her. She felt her arms growing 
numb; how much longer could she hold the baby 
safe ? She called to Alessandro. He did not hear 
her ; the wind had risen again ; the snow was being 


380 


RAMONA. 


blown in masses ; it was like making headway among 
whirling snow-drifts. 

“ We will die,” thought Ramona. “ Perhaps it is 
as well ! ” And that was the last she knew, till she 
heard a shouting, and found herself being shaken and 
beaten, and heard a strange voice saying, “ Sorry ter 
handle yer so rough, ma’am, but we ’ve got ter git yer 
out ter the fire ! ” 

“Fire!” Were there such things as fire and 
warmth ? Mechanically she put the baby into the 
unknown arms that were reaching up to her, and tried 
to rise from her seat ; but she could not move. 

“ Set still ! set still !” said the strange voice. “ I ’ll 
jest carry the baby ter my wife, an’ come back fur 
you. I allowed yer could n’t git up on yer feet ; ” and 
the tall form disappeared. The baby, thus vigorously 
disturbed from her warm sleep, began to cry. 

“Thank God!” said Alessandro, at the plunging 
horses’ heads. “ The child is alive ! Majella ! ” he 
called. 

“ Yes, Alessandro,” she answered faintly, the gusts 
sweeping her voice like a distant echo past him. 

It was a marvellous rescue. They had been nearer 
the old sheep-corral than Alessandro had thought ; 
but except that other storm-beaten travellers had 
reached it before them, Alessandro had never found 
it. Just as he felt his strength failing him, and had 
thought to himself, in almost the same despairing 
words as Ramona, “ This will end all our troubles,” 
he saw a faint light to the left. Instantly he had 
turned the horses’ heads towards it. The ground was 
rough and broken, and more than once he had been in 
danger of overturning the wagon ; but he had pressed 
on, shouting at intervals for help. At last his call 
was answered, and another light appeared ; this time 
a swinging one, coming slowly towards him, — a 
lantern, in the hand of a man, whose first words, 


RAMONA. 


381 


“Wall, stranger, I allow yer inter trouble,” were as 
intelligible to Alessandro as if they had been spoken 
in the purest San Luiseno dialect. 

Not so, to the stranger, Alessandro’s grateful reply 
in Spanish. 

“Another o’ these no-’count Mexicans, by thunder ! ” 
thought Jeff Hyer to himself. “ Blamed ef I ’d lived 
in a country all my life, ef I would n’t know better ’n 
to git caught out in such weather ’s this ! ” And as 
he put the crying babe into his wife’s arms, he said 
half impatiently, “Ef I ’d knowed ’t wuz Mexicans, 
Ri, T would n’t ev’ gone out ter ’um. They ’re more 
ter hum ’n T am, ’n these yer tropicks.” 

“Naow, Jeff, yer know yer would n’t let enny- 
thin’ in shape ev a human creetur go perishin’ past 
aour fire sech weather ’s this,” replied the woman, as 
she took the baby, which recognized the motherly 
hand at its first touch, and ceased crying. 

“ Why, yer pooty, blue-eyed little thing ! ” she 
exclaimed, as she looked into the baby’s face. “I 
declar, Jos, think o’ sech a mite ’s this bein’ aout ’n 
this weather. I ’ll jest warm up some milk for it 
this minnit.” 

“ Better see ’t th' mother fust, Pd,” said Jeff, lead- 
ing, half carrying, Ramona into the hut. “ She ’s nigh 
abaout froze stiff ! ” 

But the sight of her baby safe and smiling was a 
better restorative for Ramona than anything else, 
and in a few moments she had fully recovered. It 
was in a strange group she found herself. On a 
mattress, in the corner of the hut, lay a young man 
apparently about twenty-five, whose bright eyes and 
flushed cheeks told but too plainly the story of his 
disease. The woman, tall, ungainly, her face gaunt, 
her hands hardened and wrinkled, gown ragged, 
shoes ragged, her dry and broken light hair wound 
in a careless, straggling knot in her neck, wisps of it 


382 


RAMONA. 


flying over her forehead, was certainly not a pre- 
possessing figure. Yet spite of her careless, un- 
kempt condition, there was a certain gentle dignity 
in her bearing, and a kindliness in her glance, which 
won trust and warmed hearts at once. Her pale blue 
eyes were still keen-sighted ; and as she fixed them 
on Ramona, she thought to herself, “This ain’t no 
common Mexican, no how.” “ Be ye movers ? ” she 
said. 

Ramona stared. In the little English she knew, 
that word was not included. “ Ah, Senora,” she said 
regretfully, “ I cannot talk in the English speech ; 
only in Spanish.” 

“ Spanish, eh ? Yer mean Mexican ? Jos, hyar, he 
kin talk thet. He can’t talk much, though ; ’t ain ’t 
good fur him ; his lungs is out er kilter. Thet ’s what 
we ’re bringin’ him hyar fur, — fur warm climate ! 
’pears like it, don’t it ? ” and she chuckled grimly, 
but with a side glance of ineffable tenderness at the 
sick man. “ Ask her who they be, J os,” she added. 

Jos lifted himself on his elbow, and fixing his shin- 
ing eyes on Ramona, said in Spanish, “ My mother 
asks if you are travellers ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Ramona. “ We have come all the way 
from San Diego. We are Indians.” 

“ Injuns ! ” ejaculated Jos’s mother. “ Lord save 
us, Jos! Hev we reelly took in Injuns? What on 
airth — Well, well, she’s fond uv her baby’s enny 
white woman ! I kin see thet ; an’, Injun or no Injun, 
they ’ve got to stay naow. Yer could n’t turn a dog 
out ’n sech weather ’s this. I bet thet baby’s father 
wuz white, then. Look at them blue eyes.” 

Ramona listened and looked intently, but could 
understand nothing. Almost she doubted if the 
woman were really speaking English. She had never 
before heard so many English sentences without 
being able to understand one word. The Tennessee 


RAMONA. 


383 


drawl so altered even the commonest words, that she 
did not recognize them. Turning to Jos, she said 
gently, “I know very little English. I am so sorry I 
cannot understand. Will it tire you to interpret to 
me what your mother said ? ” 

Jos was as full of humor as his mother. “ She 
wants me to tell her what you wuz sayin’,” he said. 
“ I allow, I ’ll only tell her the part on ’t she ’ll like 
best. — My mother says you can stay here with us 
till the storm is over,” he said to Ramona. 

Swifter than lightning, Ramona had seized the 
woman’s hand and carried it to her heart, with 
an expressive gesture of gratitude and emotion. 
“ Thanks ! thanks ! Senora ! ” she cried. 

“What is it she calls me, Jos ?” asked his mother. 

“ Senora,” he replied. “ It only means the same as 
lady.” 

“ Shaw, Jos ! You tell her I ain’t any lady. Tell 
her everybody round where we live calls me ‘ Aunt 
Ri,’ or ‘ Mis Hyer ;’ she kin call me whichever she ’s a 
mind to. She ’s reel sweet-spoken.” 

With some difficulty Jos explained his mother’s 
disclaimer' of the title of Senora, and the choice of 
names she offered to Ramona. 

Ramona, with smiles which won both mother and 
son, repeated after him both names, getting neither 
exactly right at first trial, and finally said, “I like 
1 Aunt Ri’ best; she is so kind, like aunt, to every 
one.” 

“Naow, ain’t thet queer, Jos,” said Aunt Ri, “aout 
here ’n thes wilderness to ketch sumbody sayin’ thet, 

• — jest what they all say ter hum? I donno ’s I’m 
enny ^kinder ’n ennybody else. I don’t want ter see 
ennybody put upon, nor noways sufferin’, ef so be ’s 
I kin help; but thet ain’t ennythin’ stronary, ez 
I know. I donno how ennybody could feel enny 
different.” 


384 


RAMONA. 


“ There ’s lots doos, mammy,” replied Jos, affection- 
ately. “ Yer’d find out fast enuf, ef yer went raound 
more. There ’s mighty few ’s good ’s you air ter 
everybody.” 

Eamona was crouching in the corner by the fire, 
her baby held close to her breast. The place which 
at first had seemed a haven of warmth, she now saw 
was indeed but a poor shelter against the fearful 
storm which raged outside. It was only a hut of 
rough boards, carelessly knocked together for a shep- 
herd’s temporary home. It had been long unused, 
and many of the boards were loose and broken. 
Through these crevices, at every blast of the wind, 
the fine snow swirled. On the hearth were burning 
a few sticks of wood, dead cottonwood branches, 
which Jeff Hyer had hastily collected before the 
storm reached its height. A few more sticks lay by 
the hearth. Aunt Ei glanced at them anxiously. 
A poor provision for a night in the snow. “ Be ye 
warm, Jos ? ” she asked. 

“J\ T ot very, mammy,” he said; “but I ain’t cold, 
nuther ; an’ thet ’s somethin’.” 

It was the way in the Hyer family to make the 
best of things ; they had always possessed this virtue 
to such an extent, that they suffered from it as from a 
vice. There was hardly to be found in all Southern 
Tennessee a more contented, shiftless, ill-bestead fam- 
ily than theirs. But there was no grumbling. What- 
ever went wrong, whatever was lacking, it was “jest 
like aour luck,” they said, and did nothing, or next to 
nothing, about it. Good-natured, affectionate, humor- 
ous people ; after all, they got more comfort out of 
life than many a family whose surface conditions 
were incomparably better than theirs. When Jos, 
their oldest child and only son, broke down, had 
hemorrhage after hemorrhage, and the doctor said 
the only thing that could save him was to go across 


RAMONA. 


385 


the plains in a wagon to California, they said, “ What 
good luck ’Lizy was married last year ! Now there 
ain’t nuthin’ ter hinder sellin’ the farm ’n goin’ right 
off” And they sold their little place for half it 
was worth, traded cattle for a pair of horses and a 
covered wagon, and set off, half beggared, with their 
sick boy on a bed in the bottom of the wagon, as 
cheery as if they were rich people on a pleasure-trip. 
A pair of steers “ to spell ” the horses, and a cow to 
give milk for Jos, they drove before them; and so 
they had come by slow stages, sometimes camping for 
a week at a time, all the way from Tennessee to the 
San Jacinto Yalley. They were rewarded. Jos was 
getting well. Another six months, they thought, 
would see him cured ; and it would have gone hard 
with any one who had tried to persuade either Jeffer- 
son or Maria Hyer that they were not as lucky 
a couple as could be found. Had they not saved 
Joshua, their son ? 

Nicknames among this class of poor whites in the 
South seem singularly like those in vogue in New 
England. From totally opposite motives, the lazy, 
easy-going Tennesseean and the hurry-driven Ver- 
monter cut down all their family names to the 
shortest. To speak three syllables where one will 
answer, seems to the Vermonter a waste of time ; to 
the Tennesseean, quite too much trouble. Mrs. Hyer 
could hardly recollect ever having heard her name, 
“ Maria,” in full ; as a child, and until she was mar- 
ried, she was simply “ Ri ;” and as soon as she had a 
house of her own, to become a centre of hospitality 
and help, she was adopted by common consent of 
the neighborhood, in a sort of titular and universal 
aunt-hood, which really was a much greater tribute 
and honor than she dreamed. Not a man, woman, or 
child, within her reach, that did not call her or know 
of her as “ Aunt Ri.” 


25 


386 


RAMONA. 


“I donno whether I’d best make enny more fire 
naow or not,” she said reflectively ; “ ef this storm ’s 
goin’ to last till mornin’, we ’ll come short o’ wood, 
thet’s clear.” As she spoke, the door of the hut 
burst open, and her husband staggered in, followed 
by Alessandro, both covered with snow, their arms 
full of wood. Alessandro, luckily, knew of a little 
clump of young cottonwood-trees in a ravine, only a 
few rods from the house; and the first thing he had 
thought of, after tethering the horses in shelter be- 
tween the hut and the wagons, was to get wood. Jeff, 
seeing him take a hatchet from the wagon, had un- 
derstood, got his own, and followed ; and now there 
lay on the ground enough to keep them warm for 
hours. As soon as Alessandro had thrown down his 
load, he darted to Ramona, and -kneeling down, looked 
anxiously into the baby’s face, then into hers ; then 
he said devoutly, “The saints be praised, my Majella ! 
It is a miracle ! ” 

Jos listened in dismay to this ejaculation. “Ef 
they ain’t Catholics ! ” he thought. “ What kind o’ 
Injuns be they, I wonder. I won’t tell mammy 
they ’re Catholics ; she ’d feel wuss ’n ever. I don’t 
care what they be. Thet gal ’s got the sweetest 
eyes ’n her head ever I saw sence I wuz born.” . 

By help of Jos’s interpreting, the two families soon 
became well acquainted with each other’s condition 
and plans ; and a feeling of friendliness, surprising 
under the circumstances, grew up between them. 

“Jeff,” said Aunt Ri, — “Jeff, they can’t under- 
stand a word we say, so ’t ’s no harm done, I s’pose, 
to speak afore ’em, though ’t don’t seem hardly fair to 
take advantage o’ their not knowin’ any language but 
their own ; but I jest tell you thet I *ve got a lesson ’n 
the subjeck uv Injuns. I ’ve always bed a reel mean 
feelin’ about ’em ; I did n’t want ter come nigh ’em, 
nor ter hev ’em come nigh me. This woman, here, 


RAMONA. 


387 


she ’s ez sweet a creetur ’s ever I see ; V ez bound up ’n 
thet baby ’s yer could ask enny woman to be ; ’n’ ’s 
fur thet man, can’t yer see, Jeff, he jest worships the 
ground she walks on ? Thet ’s a fact, Jeff. I donno ’s 
ever I see a white man think so much uv a woman ; 
come, naow, Jeff, d’ yer think yer ever did yerself ? ” 

Aunt Ei was excited. The experience was, to her, 
almost incredible. Her ideas of Indians had been 
drawn from newspapers, and from a book or two of 
narratives of massacres, and from an occasional sight 
of vagabond bands or families they had encountered 
in their journey across the plains. Here she found 
herself sitting side by side in friendly intercourse 
with an Indian man and Indian woman, whose ap- 
pearance and behavior were attractive ; towards whom 
she felt herself singularly drawn. 

“I ’m free to confess, Jos,” she said, “I would n’t 
ha’ bleeved it. I hain’t seen nobody, black, white, or 
gray, sence we left hum, I ’ve took to like these yere 
folks. An’ they’re real dark; ’s dark’s any nigger 
in Tennessee ; V he ’s pewer Injun ; her father wuz 
white, she sez, but she don’t call herself nothin’ but 
an Injun, the same ’s he is. D’ yer notice the way 
she looks at him, Jos ? Don’t she jest set a store by 
thet feller ? ’N’ I don’t blame her.” 

Indeed, Jos had noticed. No man was likely to see 
Eamona with Alessandro without perceiving the rare 
quality of her devotion to him. And now there was 
added to this devotion an element of indefinable anx- 
iety which made its vigilance unceasing. Eamona 
feared for Alessandro’s reason. She had hardly put 
it into words to herself, but the terrible fear dwelt 
with her. She felt that another blow would be more 
than he could bear. 

The storm lasted only a few hours. When it 
cleared, the valley was a solid expanse of white, and 
the stars shone out as if in an Arctic sky. 


388 


RAMONA. 


“It will be all gone, by noon to-morrow,” said 
Alessandro to Jos, who was dreading the next day. 

“ Not really ! ” he said. 

“You will see,” said Alessandro. “I have often 
known it thus. It is like death while it lasts ; but it 
is never long.” 

The Hyers were on their way to some hot springs * 
on the north side of the valley. Here they proposed 
to camp for three months, to try the waters for Jos. 
They had a tent, and all that was hecessary for living 
in their primitive fashion. Aunt Ei was looking for- 
ward to the rest with great anticipation; she was 
heartily tired of being on the move. Her husband’s 
anticipations were of a more stirring nature. He had 
heard that there was good hunting on San Jacinto 
Mountain. When he found that Alessandro knew 
the region thoroughly, and had been thinking of set- 
tling there, he was rejoiced, and proposed to him to 
become his companion and guide in hunting expe- 
ditions. Eamona grasped eagerly at the suggestion ; 
companionship, she was sure, would do Alessandro 
good, — companionship, the outdoor life, and the ex- 
citement of hunting, of which he was fond. This 
hot-spring canon was only a short distance from the 
Saboba village, of which they had spoken as a pos- 
sible home ; which she had from the first desired to 
try. She no longer had repugnance to the thought 
of an Indian village ; she already felt a sense of kin- 
ship and shelter with any Indian people. She had 
become, as Carmena had said, “ one of them.” 

A few days saw the two families settled, — the 
Hyers in their tent and wagon, at the hot springs, and 
Alessandro and Eamona, with the baby, in a little 
adobe house in the Saboba village. The house be- 
longed to an old Indian woman who, her husband 
having died, had gone to live with a daughter, and 
was very glad to get a few dollars by renting her own 


RAMONA. 


389 


house. It was a wretched place : one small room, 
walled with poorly made adobe bricks, thatched with 
tale, no floor, and only one window. When Alessan- 
dro heard Eamona say cheerily, “ Oh, this will do very 
well, when it is repaired a little,” his face was con- 
vulsed, and he turned away ; but he said nothing. It 
was the only house to be had in the village, and there 
were few better. Two months later, no one would 
have known it. Alessandro had had good luck in 
hunting. Two fine deerskins covered the earth floor ; 
a third was spread over the bedstead ; and the horns, 
hung on the walls, served for hooks to hang clothes 
upon. The scarlet calico canopy was again set up 
over the bed, and the woven cradle, on its red manza- 
nita frame, stood near. A small window in the door, 
and one more cut in the walls, let in light and air. 
On a shelf near one of these windows stood the 
little Madonna, again wreathed with vines as in San 
Pasquale. 

When Aunt Ei first saw the room, after it was thus 
arranged, she put both arms akimbo, and stood in 
the doorway, her mouth wide open, her eyes full of 
wonder. Finally her wonder framed itself in an ejac- 
ulation : “ Wall, I allow yer air fixed up !” 

Aunt Ei, at her best estate, had never -possessed a 
room which had the expression of this poor little mud 
hut of Eamona’s. She could not understand it. The 
more she studied the place, the less she understood it. 
On returning to the tent, she said to Jos : “It beats 
all ever I see, the way thet Injun woman ’s got fixed 
up out er nothin’.. It ain’t no more ’n a hovel, a mud 
hovel, Jos, not much bigger ’n this yer tent, fur all 
three on ’em, an’ the bed an’ the stove an’ everythin’ ; 
an’ I vow, Jos, she ’s fixed it so ’t looks jest like a 
parlor ! It beats me, it doos. I ’d jest like you to 
see it.” 

And when Jos saw it, and Jeff, they were as full 


390 


RAMONA. 


of wonder as Aunt Ei had been. Dimly they recog- 
nized the existence of a principle here which had 
never entered into their life. They did not know it 
by name, and it could not have been either taught, 
transferred, or explained to the good-hearted wife and 
mother who had been so many years the affectionate 
disorderly genius of their home. But they felt its 
charm ; and when, one day, after the return of Ales- 
sandro and Jeff from a particularly successful hunt, 
the two families had sat down together to a supper 
of Eamona’s cooking, — stewed venison and arti- 
chokes, and frijoles with chili, — their wonder was 
still greater. 

“Ask her if this is Injun style of cooking, Jos,’* 
said Aunt Ei. “ I never thought nothin’ o’ beans ; but 
these air good, ’n’ no mistake ! ” 

Eamona laughed. “ No • it is Mexican,” she said. 
“ I learned to cook from an old Mexican woman.” 

“ Wall, I ’d like the receipt on ’t ; but 1 allow I 
should n’t never git the time to fuss with it,” said 
Aunt Ei ; “ but I may ’s well git the rule, naow I ’m 
here.” 

Alessandro began to lose some of his gloom. He 
had earned money. He had been lifted out of him- 
self by kindly companionship ; he saw Eamona cheer- 
ful, the little one sunny; the sense of home, the 
strongest passion Alessandro possessed, next to his 
love for Eamona, began again to awake in him. He 
began to talk about building a house. He had found 
things in the village better than he feared. It was 
but a poverty-stricken little handful, to be sure ; still, 
they were unmolested ; the valley was large ; their 
stock ran free; the few white settlers, one at the 
upper end and two or three on the south side, had 
manifested no disposition to crowd the Indians ; the 
Eavallo brothers were living on the estate still, and 
there was protection in that, Alessandro thought 


RAMONA. 


391 


And Majella was content. Majella had found friends. # 
Something, not quite hope, but akin to it, began to 
stir in Alessandro’s heart. He would build a house ; 
Majella should no longer live in this mud hut. But 
to his surprise, when he spoke of it, Ramona said 
no ; they had all they needed, now. Was not Ales- 
sandro comfortable ? She was. It would be wise to 
wait longer before building. 

Ramona knew many things that Alessandro did 
not. While he had been away on his hunts, she had 
had speech with many a one he never saw. She had 
gone to the store and post-office several times, to ex- 
change baskets or lace for flour, and she had heard 
talk there which disquieted her. She did not believe 
that Saboba was safe. One day she had heard a man 
say, “ If there is a drought we shall have the devil 
to pay with our stock before winter is over.” “ Yes,” 
said another ; “ and look at those damned Indians 
over there in Saboba, with ‘water running all the 
time in their village ! It’s a shame they should 
have that spring ! ” 

Not for worlds would Ramona have told this to 
Alessandro. She kept it locked in her own breast, 
but it rankled there like a ceaseless warning and 
prophecy. When she reached home that day she went 
down to the spring in the centre of the village, and 
stood a long time looking at the bubbling water. It 
was indeed a priceless treasure ; a long irrigating ditch 
led from it down into the bottom, where lay the cul- 
tivated fields, — many acres in wheat, barley, and 
vegetables. Alessandro himself had fields there from 
which they would harvest all they needed for the 
horses and their cow all winter, in case pasturage 
failed. If the wdiites took away this water, Saboba 
would be ruined. However, as the spring began in 
the very heart of the village, they could not take it 
without destroying the village. “ And the Ravallos 


392 


RAMONA. 


« would surely never let that be done,” thought Ramona. 
“ While they live, it will not happen.” 

It was a sad day for Ramona and Alessandro 
when the kindly Hyers pulled up their tent-stakes 
and left the valley. Their intended three months had 
stretched into six, they had so enjoyed the climate, 
and the waters had seemed to do such good to Jos. 
But, “ We ain’t rich folks, yer know, not by a long 
ways, we ain’t,” said Aunt Ri ; “ an’ we ’ve got pretty 
nigh down to where Jeff an’ me ’s got to begin aimin’ 
suthin’. Ef we kin git settled ’n some o’ these towns 
where there ’s carpenterin’ to be done. Jeff, he ’s a 
master hand to thet kind o’ work, though yer might n’t 
think it ; ’n I kin aim right smart at weavin’ ; jest 
give me a good carpet-loom, ’n I won’t be beholden 
to nobody for vittles. I jest du love weavin’. I 
donno how I ’ve contented myself this hull year, or 
nigh about a year, without a loom. Jeff, he sez to me 
once, sez he, ‘ Ri, do yer think yer ’d be contented 
in heaven without yer loom ? ’ an’ I was free to say 
I did n’t know ’s I should.” 

“ Is it hard ? ” cried Ramona. “ Could I learn to do 
it ? ” It was wonderful what progress in understand- 
ing and speaking English Ramona had made in these 
six months. She now understood nearly all that was 
said directly to her, though she could not follow gen- 
eral and confused conversation. 

“ Wall, ’t is, an’ ’t ain’t,” said Aunt Ri. “ I don’t s’pose 
I ’m much of a jedge ; fur I can’t remember when I 
fust learned it. I know I set in the loom to weave 
when my feet could n’t reach the floor ; an’ I don’t 
remember nothin’ about fust learnin’ to spool ’n’ warp. 

I ’ve tried to teach lots of folks ; an’ sum learns quick, 
an’ some don’t never learn ; it ’s jest ’s 't strikes ’em. 

I should think, naow, thet you wuz one o’ the kind 
could turn yer hand to anythin’. When we get set- 
tled in San Bernardino, if yer ’ll come down thar, 


RAMONA. 


393 


I ’ll teach yer all I know, ’n’ be glad ter. I donno ’s 
’t ’s goin’ to be much uv a place for carpet-weavin’ 
though, anywheres raound ’n this yer country ; not 
but what thar’s plenty o’ rags, but folks seems to be 
wearin’ ’em ; pooty gen’ral wear, I sh’d say. I ’Ve 
seen more does on folks’ backs hyar, thet wan’t no 
more ’n fit for carpet-rags, than any place ever I 
struck. They ’re drefful sheftless lot, these yere Mexi- 
cans ; ’n’ the Injuns is wuss. Naow when I say Injuns, 
I don’t never mean yeovt, yer know thet. Yer ain’t 
ever seemed to me one mite like an Injun.” 

“ Most of our people have n’t had any chance,” said 
Ramona. “ You would n’t believe if I were to tell you 
what things have been done to them ; how they are 
robbed, and cheated, and turned out of their homes.” 

Then she told the story of Temecula, and of San 
Pasquale, in Spanish, to Jos, wha translated it with 
no loss in the telling. Aunt Ri was aghast; she 
found no words to express her indignation. 

“ I don’t bleeve the Guvvermunt knows anything 
about it ! ” she said. “ Why, they take folks up, ’n’ 
penetentiarize ’em fur life, back ’n Tennessee, fur 
things thet ain’t so bad’s thet! Somebody bought 
ter be sent ter tell ’em ’t Washington what ’s goin’ 
on hyar.” 

“ I think it ’s the people in Washington that have 
done it,” said Ramona, sadly. “ Is it not in Washing- 
ton all the laws are made ? ” 

“ I bleeve so ! ” said Aunt Ri. “ Ain’t it, Jos ? 
It ’s Congress ain’t ’t, makes the laws ? ” 

“ I bleeve so ! ” said Jos. “ They make some, at 
any rate. I donno ’s they make ’em all.” 

“ It is all done by the American law,” said Ramo- 
na, “ all these things ; nobody can help himself ; for 
if anybody goes against the law he has to be killed 
or put in prison ; that was what the sheriff told Ales- 
sandro, at Temecula. He felt very sorry for the Te- 


394 


RAMONA . 


rnecula people, the sheriff did ; but he . had to obey the 
law himself. Alessandro says there is n ’t any help.” 

Aunt Ei shook her head. She was not convinced. 
“ I sh’ll make a business o’ findin’ out abaout this 
thing yit,” she said. “I think yer hain’t got the 
rights on ’t yit. There ’s cheatin’ somewhere ! ” 

“ It *s all cheating ! ” said. Eamona ; “ but there is n’t 
any help for it, Aunt Ei. The Americans think it is 
no shame to cheat for money.” 

“ I ’m an Ummeriken !” cried Aunt Ei ; “ an’ Jeff 
Hyer, and Jos ! We’re Ummerikens ! ’n’ we would n’t 
cheat nobody, not ef we knowed it, not out er a dol- 
ler. We ’re pore, an’ I alius expect to be, but we ’re 
above cheatin’ ; an’ I tell you, naow, the Ummeriken 
people don’t want any o’ this cheatin’ done, naow ! 
I ’m going to ask Jeff haow ’t is. Why, it ’s a burn- 
in’ shame to any country ! So ’t is ! I think some- 
thing oughter be done abaout it ! I would n’t mind 
goin’ myself, ef thar wan’t anybody else ! ” 

A seed had been sown in Aunt Ei’s mind which 
was not destined to die for want of soil. She was 
hot with shame and anger, and full of impulse to do 
something. “ I ain’t nobody,” she said ; “ I know thet 
well enough, — I ain’t nobody nor nothin’ ; but I al- 
low I ’ve got suthin’ to say abaout the country I live 
in, ’n’ the way things lied oughter be; or ’t least Jeff 
hez ; ’n’ thet ’s the same thing. I tell yer, Jos, I ain’t 
goin’ to rest, nor ter give yeou ’n’ yer father no rest 
nutlier, till yeou find aout what all this yere means 
she ’s been tellin’ us.” 

But sharper and closer anxieties than any con- 
nected with rights to lands and homes were pressing 
upon Alessandro and Eamona. All summer the baby 
had been slowly drooping ; so slowly that it was each 
day possible for Eamona to deceive herself, thinking 
that there had been since yesterday no loss, perhaps a 
little gain ; but looking back from the autumn to the 


RAMONA. 


395 


spring, and now from the winter to the autumn, there 
was no doubt that she had been steadily going down. 
From the day of that terrible chill in the snow-storm, 
she had never been quite well, Ramona thought. Be- 
fore that, she was strong, always strong, always beau- 
tiful and merry. Now her pinched little face was sad 
to see, and sometimes for hours she made a feeble 
wailing cry without any apparent cause. All the 
simple remedies that Aunt Ri had known, had failed 
to touch her disease ; in fact, Aunt Ri from the first 
had been baffled in her own mind by the child’s 
symptoms. Day after day Alessandro knelt by the 
cradle, his hands clasped, his face set. Hour after 
hour, night and day, indoors and out, he bore her 
in his arms, trying to give her relief. Prayer after 
prayer to the Virgin, to the saints, Ramona had said ; 
and candles by the dozen, though* money was now 
scant, she had burned before the/ Madonna ; all in 
vain. At last she implored Alessandro to go to San 
Bernardino and see a doctor. “ Find Aunt Ri,” she 
said ; “ she will go with you, with Jos, and talk to 
him ; she can make him understand. Tell Aunt Ri 
she seems just as she did when they were here, only 
weaker and thinner.” 

Alessandro found Aunt Ri in a sort of shanty on 
the outskirts of San Bernardino. “ Not to rights yit,” 
she said, — as if she ever would be. Jeff had found 
work; and Jos, too, had been able to do a little on 
pleasant days. He had made a loom and put up a 
loom-house for his mother, — a floor just large enough 
to hold the loom ; rough walls, and a roof ; one small 
square window, — that was all ; but if Aunt Ri had 
been presented with a palace, she would not have been 
so well pleased. Already she had woven a rag carpet 
for herself, was at work on one for a neighbor, and 
had promised as many more as she could do before 
spring ; the news of the arrival of a rag-carpet weaver 


396 


RAMONA. 


having gone with despatch all through the lower walks 
of San Bernardino life. “ I would n’t hev bleeved 
they hed so many rags besides what they ’re wearin 
said Aunt Ri, as sack after sack appeared at her door. 
Already, too, Aunt Ri had gathered up the threads of 
the village life ; in her friendly, impressionable way 
she had come into relation with scores of people, and 
knew who was who, and what was what, and why, 
among them all, far better than many an old resident 
of the town. 

When she saw Benito galloping up to her door, 
she sprang down from her high stool at the loom, and 
ran bareheaded to the gate, and before Alessandro had 
dismounted, cried : “Ye ’re jest the man I wanted ; 
I ’ve been tryin’ to ’range it so ’s we could go down ’n’ 
see yer, but Jeff could n’t leave the job he ’s got ; an’ 
I ’m druv nigh abaout off my feet, ’n’ I donno when 
we ’d hev fetched it. How ’s all ? Why did n’t yer 
come in ther wagon ’n’ fetch ’em ’long? I ’ve got 
heaps ter tell yer. I allowed yer had n’t got the rights 
o’ all them things. The Guvvermunt ain’t on the side 
o’ the thieves, as yer said. I knowed they could n’t be ; 
an’ they ’ve jest sent out a man a purpose to look after 
things fur yer, — to take keer o’ the Injuns ’n’ nothin’ 
else. Thet ’s what he ’s here fur. He come last month ; 
he’s a reel nice man. I seen him ’n’ talked with him 
a spell, last week ; I ’m gwine to make his wife a rag 
carpet. ’N’ there’s a doctor, too, to ’tend ter yer 
when ye’re sick, ’n’ the Guvvermunt pays him; yer 
don’t hev to pay nothin’ ; ’n’ I tell yeow, thet ’s a 
heap o’ savin’, to git yer docterin’ fur nuthin’ ! ” 

Aunt Ri was out of breath. Alessandro had not un- 
derstood half she said. He looked about helplessly 
for Jos. Jos was away. In his broken English he 
tried to explain what Ramona had wished her to do. 

“ Doctor ! Thet ’s jest what I ’m tellin’ yer ! There ’s 
one here ’s paid by the Guvvermunt to ’tend to all 


RAMONA. 


397 


Injuns thet 9 a sick. I ’ll go ’n’ show yer ter his house. 
I kin tell him jest how the baby is. P’r’aps he ’ll 
drive down ’n’ see her ! ” 

Ah ! if he would ! What would Majella say, should 
she see him enter the door bringing a doctor ! 

Luckily Jos returned in time to go with them to 
the doctor’s house as interpreter. Alessandro w r as be- 
wildered. He could not understand this new phase 
of affairs. Could it be true ? As they walked along, 
he listened with trembling, half-incredulous hope to 
Jos’s interpretation of Aunt Ei’s voluble narrative. 

The doctor was in his office. To Aunt Ei’s state- 
ment of Alessandro’s errand he listened indifferently, 
and then said, “ Is he an Agency Indian ? ” 

“ A what ? ” exclaimed Aunt Ei. 

“ Does he belong to the Agency ? Is his name on 
the Agency books ? ” 

“ Ho,” said she ; “ he never heern uv any Agency 
till I wuz tellin’ him, jest naow. We knoo him, him 
’n’ her, over ’n San Jacinto. He lives in Saboba. 
He ’s never been to San Bernardino sence the Agent 
come aout.” 

“ Well, is he going to put his name down on the 
books*?” said the doctor, impatiently. “You ought 
to have taken him to the Agent first.” 

“ Ain’t you the Guvvermunt doctor for all Injuns ? ” 
asked Aunt Ei, wratlifully. “ Thet ’s what I heerd.” 

“ Well, my good woman, you hear a great deal, I 
expect, that isn’t true;” and the doctor laughed 
coarsely but not ill-naturedly, Alessandro all the 
time studying his face with the scrutiny of one await- 
ing life and death ; “ I am the Agency physician, 
and I suppose all the Indians will sooner or later 
come in and report themselves to the Agent ; you ’d 
better take this man over there. What does he want 
now ? ” 

Aunt Ei began to explain the baby’s case. Cutting 


398 


RAMONA. 


her short, the doctor said, “ Yes, yes, I understand. 
I ’ll give him something that will help her ; ” and 
going into an inner room, he brought out a bottle 
of dark-colored liquid, wrote a few lines of prescrip- 
tion, and handed it to Alessandro, saying, “ That will 
do her good, I guess.” 

** Thanks, Senor, thanks,” said Alessandro. 

The doctor stared. “That’s the first Indian’s said 
f Thank you ’ in this office,” he said. “ You tell the 
Agent you ’ve brought him a rara avis .” 

“ What ’s that, Jos ? ” said Aunt Ei, as they went 
out. 

“ Donno ! ” said Jos. “ I don’t like thet man, any- 
how, mammy. He ’s no good.” 

Alessandro looked at the bottle of medicine like one 
in a dream. Would it make the baby w T ell ? Had it 
indeed been given to him by that great Government 
in Washington ? Was he to be protected now ? Could 
this man, who had been sent out to take care of 
Indians, get back his San Pasquale farm for him ? 
Alessandro’s brain was in a whirl. 

From the doctor’s office they went to the Agent’s 
house. Here, Aunt Ei felt herself more at home. 

“ I ’ve brought ye thet Injun I wuz tellin’ ye uv,” 
she said, with a wave of her hand toward Alessandro. 
“ We ’ve ben ter tlier doctor’s to git some metcen fur 
his baby. She ’s reel sick, I ’m afeerd.” 

The Agent sat down at his desk, opened a large 
ledger, saying as he did so, “ The man ’s never been 
here before, has he ? ” 

“ No,” said Aunt Ei. 

“ What is his name ? ” 

J os gave it, and the Agent began to write it in the 
book. “ Stop him ! ” cried Alessandro, agitatedly, to 
Jos. “ Don’t let him write, till I know what he puts 
my name in his book for ! ” 

“ Wait,” said Jos. “ He does n’t want you to write 


RAMONA. 399 

his name in that book. He wants to know what it ’s 
put there for.” 

Wheeling his chair with a look of suppressed im- 
patience, yet trying to speak kindly, the Agent said : 
“ There ’s no making these Indians understand any- 
thing. They seem to think if I have their names in 
my book, it gives me some power over them.” 

“ Wall, don’t it ?” said the direct-minded Aunt Ei. 
“ Hain’t yer got any power over ’em ? If yer hain’t 
got it over them, who have, yer got it over ? What 
yer goin’ to do for ’em ? ” 

The Agent laughed in spite of himself. “Well, 
Aunt Ei,” — she was already “ Aunt Ei” to the 
Agent’s boys, — “that’s just the trouble with this 
Agency. It is very different from what it wbuld be 
if I had all my Indians on a reservation.” 

Alessandro understood the words “my Indians.” 
He had heard them before. 

“What does he mean by his Indians, Jos ? ” he 
asked fiercely. “ I will not have my name in his 
book if it makes me his.” 

When Jos reluctantly interpreted this, the Agent 
lost his temper. “ That ’s all the use there is trying 
to do anything with them ! Let him go, then, if he 
does n’t want any help from the Government ! ” 

“Oh, no, no !” cried Aunt Ei. “ Yeow jest explain 
it to Jos, an’ he ’ll make him understand.” 

Alessandro’s face had darkened. All this seemed 
to him exceedingly suspicious. Could it be possible 
that Aunt Ei and Jos, the first whites except Mr. 
Hartsel he had ever trusted, were deceiving him? 
Ho ; that was impossible. But they themselves might 
be deceived. That they were simple and ignorant, 
Alessandro well knew. “ Let us go !” he said. “I 
do not wash to sign any paper.” 

“ JSTaow don’t be a fool, will yeow ? Yeow ain’t sign- 
in’ a thing ! ” said Aunt Ei. “ J os, yeow tell him I say 


400 


RAMONA. 


there ain’t anythin’ a bindin’ him, hevin’ his name ’n’ 
thet book. It’s only so the Agent kin know what 
Injuns wants help, ’n’ where they air. Ain’t thet 
so ? ” she added, turning to the Agent. “ Tell him 
he can’t hev the Agency doctor, ef he ain’t on the 
Agency books.” 

Not have the doctor ? Give up this precious medi- 
cine which might save his baby’s life ? No ! he could 
not do that. Majella would say, let the name be 
written, rather than that. 

“ Let him write the name, then,” said Alessandro, 
doggedly ; but he went out of the room feeling as if 
he had put a chain around his neck. 


XXIII. 


HE medicine did the baby no good. In fact, it 



-1- did her harm. She was too feeble for violent 
remedies. In a week, Alessandro appeared again at 
the Agency doctor’s door. This time he had come 
with a request which to his mind seemed not unrea- 
sonable. He had brought Baba for the doctor to ride. 
Could the doctor then refuse to go to Saboba ? Baba 
would carry him there in three hours, and it would 
be like a cradle all the way. Alessandro’s name was 
in the Agency books. It was for this he had written 
it, — for this and nothing else, — to save the baby’s 
life. Having thus enrolled himself as one of the 
Agency Indians, he had a claim on this the Agency 
doctor. And that his application might be all in due 
form, he took with him the Agency interpreter. He 
had had a misgiving, before, that Aunt Bi’s kindly 
volubility had not been well timed. Not one un- 
necessary word, was Alessandro’s motto. 

To say that the Agency doctor was astonished at 
being requested to ride thirty miles to prescribe for 
an ailing Indian baby, would be a mild statement of 
the doctor’s emotion. He could hardly keep from 
laughing, when it was made clear to him that this 
was what the Indian father expected. 

“ Good Lord ! ” he said, turning to a crony who 
chanced to be lounging in the office. “ Listen to 
that beggar, will you ? I wonder what he thinks the 
Government pays me a year for doctoring Indians ! ” 

Alessandro listened so closely it attracted the doc- 
tor’s attention. “ Do you understand English ? ” he 
asked sharply. 


26 


402 


RAMONA. 


“ A very little, Senor,” replied Alessandro. 

The doctor would be more careful in his speech, 
then. But he made it most emphatically clear that 
the thing Alessandro had asked was not only out of 
the question, but preposterous. Alessandro pleaded. 
For the child’s sake he could do it. The horse was 
at the door ; there was no such horse in San Ber- 
nardino County ; he went like the wind, and one 
would not know he was in motion, it was so easy. 
Would not the doctor come down and look at the 
horse ? Then he would see what it would be like to 
ride him. 

“ Oh, I ’ve seen plenty of your Indian ponies,” said 
the doctor. “ I know they can run.” 

Alessandro lingered. He could not give up this 
last hope. The tears came into his eyes. “ It is 
our only child, Senor,” he said. “It will take 
you but six hours in all. My wife counts the mo- 
ments till you come ! If the child dies, she will 
die.” 

“ No ! no ! ” The doctor was weary of being im- 
portuned. “ Tell the man it is impossible ! I ’d soon 
have my hands full, if I began to go about the coun- 
try this way. They’d be sending for me down to 
Agua Caliente next, and bringing up their ponies to 
carry me.” 

“ He will not go ? ” asked Alessandro. 

The interpreter shook his head. “ He cannot,” he 
said. 

Without a word Alessandro left the room. Pres- 
ently he returned. “Ask him if he will come for 
money ? ” he said. “ I have gold at home. I will 
pay him, what the white men pay him.” 

“ Tell him no man of any color could pay me for 
going sixty miles ! ” said the doctor. 

And Alessandro departed again, walking so slowly, 
however, that he heard the coarse laugh, and the 


RAMONA. 


403 


words, “ Gold ! Looked- like it, did n’t he? ” which fol- 
lowed his departure from the room. 

When Eamona saw him returning alone, she wrung 
her hands. Her heart seemed breaking. The baby 
had lain in a sort of stupor since noon ; she was 
plainly worse, and Eamona had been going from the 
door to the cradle, from the cradle to the door, for an 
hour, looking each moment for the hoped-for aid. It 
had not once crossed her mind that the doctor would 
not come. She had accepted in much fuller faith 
than Alessandro the account of the appointment by 
the Government of these two men to look after the 
Indians’ interests. What else could their coming 
mean, except that, at last, the Indians were to have 
justice? She thought, in her simplicity, that the 
doctor must have died, since Alessandro was riding 
home alone. 

“ He would not come ! ” said Alessandro, as he 
threw himself off his horse, wearily. 

“ Would not ! ” cried Eamona. “ Would not ! Did 
you not say the Government had sent him to be the 
doctor for Indians ? ” 

“ That was what they said,” he replied. “ You see 
it is a lie, like the rest ! But I offered him gold, 
and he would not come then. The child must die, 
Majella ! ” 

“ She shall not die ! ” cried Eamona. “We will 
carry her to him ! ” The thought struck them both 
as an inspiration. Why had they not thought of it 
before ? “ You can fasten the cradle on Baba’s back, 

and he will go so gently, she will think it is but 
play ; and I will walk by her side, or you, all the 
way!” she continued. “And we can sleep at Aunt 
Ei’s house. Oh, why, why did we not do it before ? 
Early in the morning we will start.” 

All through the night they sat watching the little 
creature. If they had ever seen death, they would 


404 


RAMONA. 


have known that there was no hope for the child. 
But how should Ramona and Alessandro know ? 

The sun rose bright and warm. Before it was 
up, the cradle was ready, ingeniously strapped on 
Baba’s back. When the baby was placed in it, she 
smiled. “ The first smile she has given for . days,” 
cried Ramona. “Oh, the air itself will do good 
to her! Let me walk by her first! Come, Baba! 
Dear Baba ! ” and Ramona stepped almost joyfully 
by the horse’s side, Alessandro riding Benito. 
As they paced along, their eyes never leaving the 
baby’s face, Ramona said, in a low tone, “ Ales- 
sandro, I am almost afraid to tell you what I have 
done. I took the little Jesus out of the Madonna’s 
arms and hid it ! Did you never hear, that if you 
do that, the Madonna will grant you anything, to 
get him back again in her arms? Did you ever 
hear of it ? ” 

“ Never ! ” exclaimed Alessandro, with horror in 
his tone. “ Never, Majella ! How dared you ? ” 

“ I dare anything now ! ” said Ramona. “ I have 
been thinking to do it for some days, and to tell her 
she could not have him any more till she gave 
me back the baby well and strong ; but I knew I 
could not have courage to sit and look at her all 
lonely without him in her arms, so I did not do it. 
But now we are to be away, I thought, that is the 
time ; and I told her, ‘ When we come back with our 
baby well, you shall have your little Jesus again, too; 
now, Holy Mother, you go with us, and make the doc- 
tor cure our baby ! ’ Oh, I have heard, many times, 
women tell the Senora they had done this, and al- 
ways they got what they wanted. Never will she 
let the Jesus be out of her arms more than three 
weeks before she will grant any prayer one can make. 
It was that way she brought you to me, Alessandro. 

I never before told you. I was afraid. I think she 


RAMONA. 


405 


had brought you sooner, but I could keep the little 
J esus hid from her only at night. In the day I could 
not, because the Senora would see. So she did 
not miss him so much ; else she had brought you 
quicker.” J 

“ But, Majella,” said the logical Alessandro, “ it 
was because I could not leave my father that I did 
not come. As soon as he was buried, I came.” 

“ If it had not been for the Virgin, you would never 
have come at all,” said Ramona, confidently. 

For the first hour of this sad journey it seemed as 
if the child were really rallying; the air, the sun- 
light, the novel motion, the smiling mother by her 
side, the big black horses she had' already learned to 
love, all roused her to an animation she had not 
shown for days. But it was only the last flicker of 
the expiring flame. The eyes drooped, closed; a 
strange pallor came over the face. Alessandro 
saw it first. He w T as now walking, Ramona riding 
Benito. “ Majella ! ” he cried, in a tone which told 
her all. 

In a second she was at the baby’s side, with a cry 
which smote the dying child’s consciousness. Once 
more the eyelids lifted ; she knew her mother ; a 
swift spasm shook the little frame ; a convulsion as 
of agony swept over the face, then it was at peace. 
Majella’s shrieks were heart-rending. Fiercely she 
put Alessandro away from her, as he strove to caress 
her. She stretched her arms up towards the sky. 

“ I have killed her ! I have killed her ! ” she cried. 
“Oh, let me die!” 

Slowly Alessandro turned Baba’s head homeward 
again. 

“ Oh, give her to me ! Let her lie on my breast ! I 
will hold her warm ! ” gasped Ramona. 

Silently Alessandro laid the body in her arms. 
He had not spoken since his first cry of alarm. If 


406 


RAMONA. 


Ramona had looked at him, she would have forgot- 
ten her grief for her dead child. Alessandro’s face 
seemed turned to stone. 

When they reached the house, Ramona, laying the 
child on the bed, ran hastily to a corner of the room, 
and lifting the deerskin, drew from its hiding-place 
the little wooden Jesus. With tears streaming, she 
laid it again in the Madonna’s arms, and flinging her- 
self on her knees, sobbed out prayers for forgiveness. 
Alessandro stood at the foot of the bed, his arms 
folded, his eyes riveted on the child. Soon he went 
out, still without speaking. Presently Ramona heard 
the sound of a saw. She groaned aloud, and her tears 
flowed faster : Alessandro was making the baby’s 
coffin. Mechanically she rose, and, moving like one 
half paralyzed, she dressed the little one in fresh 
white clothes for the burial ; then laying her in the 
cradle, she spread over it the beautiful lace-wrought 
altar-cloth. As she adjusted its folds, her mind was 
carried back to the time when she embroidered it, 
sitting on the Seiiora’s veranda ; the song of the 
finches, the linnets; the voice and smile of Felipe; 
Alessandro sitting on the steps, drawing divine music 
from his violin. Was that she, — that girl who sat 
there weaving the fine threads in the beautiful altar- 
cloth ? Was it a hundred years ago ? Was it an- 
other world ? Was it Alessandro yonder, driving 
those nails into a coffin ? How the blows rang, louder 
and louder ! The air seemed deafening full of sound. 
With her hands pressed to her temples, Ramona sank 
to the floor. A merciful unconsciousness set her free, 
for an interval, from her anguish. 

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the 
bed. Alessandro had lifted her and laid her there, 
making no effort to rouse her. He thought she 
would die too ; and even that thought did not stir 
him from his lethargy. When she opened her eyes, 


RAMONA. 


407 


and looked at him, he did not speak. She closed 
them. He did not move. Presently she opened 
them again. “I heard you out there,” she said. 

“ Yes,” he replied. “ It is done.” And he pointed 
to a little box of rough boards by the side of the 
cradle. 

“ Is Majella ready to go to the mountain now ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Yes, Alessandro, I am ready,” she said. 

“We will hide forever,” he said. 

“It makes no difference,” she replied. 

The Saboba women did not know what to think of 
Ramona now. She had never come into sympathetic 
relation with them, as she had with the women of 
San Pasquale. Her intimacy with the Hyers had 
been a barrier the Saboba people could not surmount. 
Ho one could be on such terms with - whites, and be 
at heart an Indian, they thought ; so they held aloof 
from Ramona. But now in her bereavement they 
gathered round her. They wept at sight of the dead 
baby’s face, lying in its tiny white coffin. Ramona 
had covered the box with white cloth, and the lace 
altar-cloth thrown over it fell in folds to the floor. 
“ Why does not this mother weep ? Is she like the 
whites, who have no heart ? ” said the Saboba mothers 
among themselves ; and they were embarrassed before 
her, and knew not what to say. Ramona perceived 
it, but had no life in her to speak to them. Benumb- 
ing terrors, which w 7 ere worse than her grief, were 
crowding Ramona’s heart now. She had offended the 
Virgin ; she had committed a blasphemy : in one short 
hour the Virgin had punished her, had smitten her 
child dead before her eyes. And now 7 Alessandro was 
going mad ; hour by hour Ramona fancied she saw 
changes in him. What form would the Virgin’s ven- 
geance take next ? Would she let Alessandro become 
a raging madman, and finally kill both himself and 


408 


RAMONA. 


her ? That seemed to Ramona the most probable fate 
in store for them. When the funeral was over, and 
they returned to their desolate home, at the sight of 
the empty cradle Ramona broke down. 

“ Oh, take me away, Alessandro ! Anywhere ! 
I don’t care where ! anywhere, so it is not here ! ” 
she cried. 

“ Would Majella be afraid, now, on the high moun- 
tain, the place 1 told her of ? ” he said. 

“No!” she replied earnestly. “ No ! I am afraid 
of nothing ! Only take me away ! ” 

A gleam of wild delight flitted across Alessandro’s 
face. “ It is well,” he said. “ My Majella, we will 
go to the’ mountain ; we will be safe there.” 

* The same fierce restlessness which took possession 
of him at San Pasquale again showed itself in his 
every act. His mind was unceasingly at work, plan- 
ning the details of their move and of the new life. He 
mentioned them one after another to Ramona. They 
could not take both horses; feed would be scanty 
there, and there would be no need of two horses. 
The cow also they must give up. Alessandro would 
kill her, and the meat, dried, would last them for a 
long time. The wagon he hoped he could sell ; and 
he would buy a few sheep ; sheep and goats could live 
well in these heights to which they were going. Safe 
at last ! Oh, yes, very safe ; not only against whites, 
who, because the little valley was so small and bare, 
would not desire it, but against Indians also. For the 
Indians, silly things, had a terror of the upper heights 
of San Jacinto ; they believed the Devil lived there, 
and money would not hire one of the Saboba Indians 
to go so high as this valley which Alessandro had dis- 
covered. Fiercely he gloated over each one of these 
features of safety in their hiding-place. “ The first 
time I saw it, Majella, — I believe the saints led me 
there, — I said, it is a hiding-place. And then I never 


RAMONA. 


409 


thought I would he in want of such, — of a place to 
keep my Majella safe ! safe ! Oh, my Majel ! ” And he 
clasped her to his breast with a terrifying passion. 

For an Indian to sell a horse and wagon in the San 
Jacinto valley was not an easy thing, unless he would 
give them away. Alessandro had hard work to give 
civil answers to the men who wished to buy Benito 
and the wagon for quarter of their value. He knew 
they would not have dared to so much as name such 
prices to a white man. Finally Ramona, who had 
felt unconquerable misgivings as to the wisdom of 
thus irrevocably parting from their most valuable 
possessions, persuaded him to take both horses and 
wagon to San Bernardino, and offer them to the Hyers 
to use for the winter. 

It would be just the work for Jos, to keep him in 
the open air, if he could get teaming to do ; she was 
sure he would be thankful for the chance. “ He is as 
fond of the horses as we are ourselves, Alessandro,” 
she said. " They would be well cared for ; and then, 
if we did not like living on the mountain, we could 
have the horses and wagon again when we came 
down, or Jos could sell them for us in San Bernar- 
dino. Nobody could see Benito and Baba working 
together, and not want them.” 

“ Majella is wiser than the dove ! ” cried Alessan- 
dro. “ She has seen what is the best thing to do. I 
will take them.” 

When he was ready to set off, he implored Ramona 
to go with him ; but with a look of horror she refused. 
“ Never,” she cried, “one step on that accursed road ! 
I will never go on that road again unless it is to be 
carried, as we brought her, dead.” 

Neither did Ramona wish to see Aunt Ri. Her 
sympathy would be intolerable, spite of all its affec- 
tionate kindliness. “ Tell her I love her,” she said, 
“ but I do not want to see a human being yet ; next 


410 


RAMONA. 


year perhaps we will go down, — if there is any other 
way besides that road.” 

Aunt Ei was deeply grieved. She could not under- 
stand Eamona’s feeling. It rankled deep. “ I allow 
I ’d never liev bleeved it uv her, never,” she said. “ I 
shan’t never think she wuz quite right ’n her head, 
to do ’t ! I allow we shan’t never set eyes on ter her, 
Jos. I ’ve got jest thet feelin’ abaout it. Tears like 
she ’d gone klar out ’er this yer world inter anuther.” 

The majestic bulwark of San Jacinto Mountain 
looms in the southern horizon of the San Bernardino 
valley. It was in full sight from the door of the 
little shanty in which Aunt Ei’s carpet-loom stood. 
As she sat there hour after hour, sometimes seven 
hours to the day, working the heavy treadle, and 
slipping the shuttle back and forth, she gazed with 
tender yearnings at the solemn, shining summit. 
When sunset colors smote it, it glowed like fire ; on 
cloudy days, it was lost in the clouds. 

“ Tears like ’t was next door to heaven, up there, 
Jos,” Aunt Ei would say. “ I can’t tell yer the feelin’ 
*t comes over me, to look up t’ it, ever sence I knowed 
she wuz there. ’T shines enuf to put yer eyes aout, 
sometimes; I allow ’t ain’t so light ’s thet when you 
air into ’t ; ’t canT be ; ther could n’t nobody stan’ 
it, ef ’t wuz. I allow ’t must be like bein’ dead, 
Jos, don’t yer think so, to be livin’ thar? He sed 
ther could n’t nobody git to ’em. Nobody ever seed 
the place but hisself. He found it a huntin’. Thar ’s 
water thar, ’n’ thet ’s abaout all thar is, ’s fur ’s I 
cud make aout ; I allow we shan’t never see her 
agin.” 

The horses and the wagon were indeed a godsend 
to Jos. It was the very thing he had been longing 
for ; the only sort of work he was as yet strong 
enough to do, and there was plenty of it to be had in 
San Bernardino. But the purchase of a wagon suita- 


RAMONA. 


411 


ble for the purpose was at present out of their power; 
the utmost Aunt Ri had hoped to accomplish was to 
have, at the end of a year, a sufficient sum laid up 
to buy one. They had tried in vain to exchange 
their heavy emigrant-wagon for one suitable for 
light work. “ ’Pears like I ’d die o’ shame,” said 
Aunt Ri, “ sometimes when I ketch myself er 
thinkin’ what luck et ’s ben to J os, er gettin’ thet 
Injun’s hosses an’ waggin. But ef Jos keeps on, 
aimin’ ez much ez he hez so fur, he *s goin’ ter pay 
the Injun part on 't, when he cums. I allow ter Jos 
’t ain’t no more ’n fair. Why, them hosses, they ’ll 
dew good tew days’ work ’n one. I never see sech 
hosses ; ’n’ they ’re jest like kittens ; they ’ve ben 
drefful pets, I allow. I know she set all the world, 
’n’ more tew, by thet nigh one. He wuz hern, ever 
sence she wuz a child. Pore thing, — ’pears like 
she hed n’t hed no chance ! ” 

Alessandro had put off, from day to day, the killing 
of the cow. It went hard with him to slaughter the 
faithful creature, who knew him, and came towards 
him at the first sound of his voice. He had pastured 
her, since the baby died, in a canon about three miles 
northeast of the village, — a lovely green canon with 
oak-trees and a running brook. It was here that he 
had thought of building his house if they had stayed 
in Saboba. But Alessandro laughed bitterly to him- 
self now, as he recalled that dream. Already the 
news had come to Saboba that a company had been 
formed for the settling up of the San Jacinto valley ; 
the Ravallo brothers had sold to this company a large 
grant of land. The white ranchmen in the valley 
were all fencing in their lands ; no more free running 
of stock. The" Saboba people were too poor to build 
miles of fencing; they must soon give up keeping 
stock ; and the next thing would be that they would 
be driven out. like the people of Temecula. It was 


412 


RAMONA. 


none too soon that he had persuaded Majella to flee 
to the mountain. There, at least, they could live 
and die in peace, — a poverty-stricken life, and the 
loneliest of deaths ; but they would have each other. 
It was well the baby had died ; she was saved all 
this misery. By the time she had grown to be a 
woman, if she had lived, there would be no place in 
all the country where an Indian could find refuge. 
Brooding over such thoughts as these, Alessandro went 
up into the canon one morning. It must be done. 
Everything was ready for their move ; it would take 
many days to carry even their few possessions up 
the steep mountain trail to their new home ; the 
pony which had replaced Benito and Baba could not 
carry a heavy load. While this was being done, Ra- 
mona would dry the beef which would be their sup- 
ply of meat for many months. Then they would go. 

At noon he came down with the first load of the 
meat, and Ramona began cutting it into long strips, 
as is the Mexican fashion of drying. Alessandro 
returned for the remainder. Early in the afternoon, 
as Ramona went to and fro about her work, she 
saw a group of horsemen riding from house to house, 
in the upper part of the village ; women came run- 
ning out excitedly from each house as the horse- 
men left it ; finally one of them darted swiftly up 
the hill to Ramona. “ Hide it ! hide it ! ” she cried, 
breathless ; “ hide the meat ! It is Merrill’s men, 
from the end of the valley. They have lost a steer, 
and they say we stole it. They found the place, with 
blood on it, where it was killed; and they say we 
did it. Oh, hide the meat ! They took all that Fer- 
nando had ; and it was his own, that he bought ; he 
did not know anything about their steer ! ” 

“ I shall not hide it ! ” cried Ramona, indig- 
nantly. “It is our own cow. Alessandro killed it 
to-day.” 


RAMONA. 


413 


“ They won’t believe you ! ” said the woman, in 
distress. “ They ’ll take it all away. Oh, hide some 
of it ! ” And she dragged a part of it across the 
floor, and threw it under the bed, Bamona standing 
by, stupefied. 

Before she had spoken again, the forms of the gal- 
loping riders darkened the doorway ; the foremost of 
them, leaping off his horse, exclaimed : “ By God ! 
here ’s the rest of it. If they ain’t the damnedest 
impudent thieves ! Look at this woman, cutting it 
up ! Put that down, will you ? We ’ll save you the 
trouble of dryin’ our meat for us, besides killin’ it ! 

Fork over, now, every bit you ’ve got, you .” 

And he called Bamona by a vile epithet. 

Every drop of blood left Bamona’s face. Her eyes 
blazed, and she came forward with the knife uplifted 
in her hand. “Out of my house, you dogs of the 
white color ! ” she said. “ This meat is our own ; my 
husband killed the creature but this morning.” 

Her tone and bearing surprised them. There were 
six of the men, and they had all swarmed into the 
little room. 

“I say, Merrill,” said one of them, “hold on; the 
squaw says her husband only jest killed it to-day. 
It might be theirs.” 

Bamona turned on him like lightning. “ Are you 
liars, you all,” she cried, “ that you think I lie ? I 
tell you the meat is ours ; and there is not an Indian 
in this village would steal cattle ! ” 

A derisive shout of laughter from all the men 
greeted this speech ; and at that second, the leader, 
seeing the mark of blood where the Indian woman 
had dragged the meat across the ground, sprang to 
the bed, and lifting the deerskin, pointed with a sneer 
to the beef hidden there. “ Perhaps, when you know 
Injuns ’s well ’s I do,” he said, “you won’t be for 
believin’ all they say ! What ’s she got it hid under 


414 


RAMONA. 


the bed for, if it was their own cow ? ” and he 
stooped to drag the meat out. “ Give us a hand 
here, Jake!” 

“ If you touch it, I will kill you ! ” cried Eamona, 
beside herself with rage ; and she sprang between the 
men, her uplifted knife gleaming. 

“ Hoity-toity 1 ” cried Jake, stepping back ; “ that ’s 
a handsome squaw when she ’s mad ! Say, boys, 
let ’s leave her some of the meat. She w T as n’t to 
blame ; of course, she believes what her husband 
told her.” 

“You go to grass for a soft-head, you Jake!” 
muttered Merrill, as he dragged the meat out from 
beneath the bed. 

“ What is all this ? ” said a deep voice in the door ; 
and Ramona, turning, with a glad cry, saw Alessan- 
dro standing there, looking on, wdth an expression 
which, even in her own terror and indignation, gave 
her a sense of dread, it was so icily defiant. He had 
his hand on his gun. “ What is all this ? ” he re- 
peated. He knew very well. • 

“ It ’s that Temecula man,” said one of the men, in 
a low tone, to Merrill. “ If I ’d known ’t was . his 
house, I would n’t have let you come here. You ’re 
up the wrong tree, sure ! ” 

Merrill dropped the meat he was dragging over the 
floor, and turned to confront Alessandro’s eyes. His 
countenance fell. Even he saw that he had made a 
mistake. He began to speak. Alessandro interrupted 
him. Alessandro could speak forcibly in Spanish. 
Pointing to his pony, which stood at the door with a 
package on its back, the remainder of the meat rolled 
in the hide, he said : " There is the remainder of 
the beef. I killed the creature this morning, in the 
canon. I will take Seiior Merrill to the place, if he 
wishes it. Seiior Merrill’s steer was killed down in 
the willows yonder, yesterday.” 


RAMONA. 


415 


“ That ’s so ! ” cried the men, gathering around him. 
“ How did you know ? Who did it ? ” 

Alessandro made no reply. He was looking at 
Bamona. She had flung her shawl over her head, as 
the other woman had done, and the two were cower- 
ing in the corner, their faces turned away. Bamona 
dared not look on ; she felt sure Alessandro would 
kill some one. But this was not the type of outrage 
that roused Alessandro to dangerous wrath. He even 
felt a certain enjoyment in the discomfiture of the 
self-constituted posse of searchers for stolen goods. To 
all their questions in regard to the stolen steer, he 
maintained silence. He would not open his lips. 
At last, angry, ashamed, with a volley of coarse oaths 
at him for his obstinacy, they rode away. Alessandro 
went to Bamona’s side. She was trembling. Her 
hands were like ice. 

“ Let us go to the mountain to-night ! ” she gasped. 
“ Take me where I need never see a white face 
again ! ” 

A melancholy joy gleamed in iHessandro’s eyes. 
Bamona, at last, felt as he did. 

“I would not dare to leave Majella there alone, 
while there is no house,” he said; “and I must go 
and come many times, before all the things can be 
carried.” 

“It will be less danger there than here, Alessandro,” 
said Bamona, bursting into violent weeping as she 
recalled the insolent leer with which the man Jake 
had looked at her. “ Oh ! I cannot stay here ! ” 

“ It will not be many days, my Majel. I will bor- 
row Fernando’s pony, to take double at once ; then we 
can go sooner.” 

“ Who was it stole that man’s steer ? ” said Bamona. 
“ Why did you not tell them ? They looked as if 
they would kill you.” 

“ It was that Mexican that lives in the bottom, 


416 


RAMONA. 


Josd Castro. I myself came on him, cutting the 
steer up. He said it was his ; but I knew very well, 
by the way he spoke, he was lying. But why should 
I tell ? They think only Indians will steal cattle. I 
can tell them, the Mexicans steal more.” 

“ I told them there was not an Indian in this 
village would steal cattle,” said Ramona, indig- 
nantly. 

“ That was not true, Majella,” replied Alessandro, 
sadly. “ When they are very hungry, they will steal 
a heifer or steer. They lose many themselves, and 
they say it is not so much harm to take one when 
they can get it. This man Merrill, they say, branded 
twenty steers for his own, last spring, when he knew 
they were Saboba cattle ! ” 

“ Why did they not make him give them up ? ” 
cried Ramona. 

“Did not Majella see to-day why they can do 
nothing ? There is no help for us, Majella, only to 
hide ; that is all we can do ! ” 

A new terror had entered into Ramona’s life ; she 
dared not tell it to Alessandro ; she hardly put it 
into words in her thoughts. But she was haunted by 
the face of the man Jake, as by a vision of evil, and 
on one pretext and another she contrived to secure the 
presence of someone of the Indian women in her house 
whenever Alessandro was away. Every day she saw 
the man riding past. Once he had galloped up to the 
open door, looked in, spoken in a friendly way to her, 
and ridden on. Ramona’s instinct was right. Jake 
was merely biding his time. He had made up his 
mind to settle in the San Jacinto valley, at least for 
a few years, and he wished to have an Indian woman 
come to live with him and keep his house. Over 
in Santa Ysabel, his brother had lived in that way 
with an Indian mistress for three years; and when 
he sold out, and left Santa Ysabel, he had given the 


RAMONA. 


417 


woman a hundred dollars and a little house for her- 
self and her child. And she was not only satisfied, but 
held herself, in consequence of this temporary connec- 
tion with a white man, much above her Indian rela- 
tives and friends. When an Indian man had wished 
to marry her, she had replied scornfully that she 
would never marry an Indian ; she might marry an- 
other white man, but an Indian, — never. Nobody 
had held his brother in any less esteem for this connec- 
tion ; it was quite the way in the country. And if 
Jake could induce this handsomest squaw he had ever 
seen, to come and live with him in a similar fashion, 
he would consider himself a lucky man, and also think 
he was doing a good thing for the squaw. It was all 
very clear and simple in his mind ; and when, seeing 
Ramona walking alone in the village one morning, he 
overtook her, and walking by her side began to sound 
her on the subject, he had small misgivings as to the 
result. Ramona trembled as he approached her. She 
walked faster, and would not look at him ; but he, in 
his ignorance, misinterpreted these signs egregiously. 

“ Are you married to your husband ? ” he finally 
said. “ It is but a poor place he gives you to live in. 
If you will come and live with me, you shall have the 
best house in the valley, as good as the Ravallos’ ; 
and — ” Jake did not finish his sentence. With a cry 
which haunted his memory for years, Ramona sprang 
from his side as if to run ; then, halting suddenly, 
she faced him, her eyes like javelins, her breath com- 
ing fast. “ Beast ! ” she said, and spat towards him ; 
then turned and fled to the nearest house, where she 
sank on the floor and burst into tears, saying that the 
man below there in the road had been rude to her. 
Yes, the women said, he was a bad man ; they all 
knew it. Of this Ramona said no word to Alessan- 
dro. She dared not; she believed he would kill 
Jake. 


418 


RAMONA. 


When the furious Jake confided to his friend Mer- 
rill his repulse, and the indignity accompanying it, 
Merrill only laughed at him, and said : “ I could have 
told you better than to try that woman. She’s mar- 
ried, fast enough. There ’s plenty you can get, though, 
if you want ’em. They ’re first-rate about a house, 
and jest *s faithful ’s dogs. You can trust ’em with 
every dollar you ’ve got.” 

From this day, Ramona never knew an instant’s 
peace or rest till she stood on the rim of the refuge 
valley, high on San Jacinto. Then, gazing around, 
looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed 
to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world, — it 
seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away 
at her feet, — feeling that infinite unspeakable sense 
of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth which 
comes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long 
breath of delight, and cried : “ At last ! at last, Ales- 
sandro ! Here we are safe ! This is freedom ! This is 

“ Can Majella be content ? ” he asked. 

t( I can almost be glad, Alessandro ! ” she cried, in- 
spired by the glorious scene. “ I dreamed not it was 
like this ! ” 

It was a wondrous valley. The mountain seemed 
to have been cleft to make it. It lay near midway to 
the top, and ran transversely on the mountain’s side, 
its western or southwestern end being many feet 
lower than the eastern. Both the upper and lower 
ends were closed by piles of rocks and tangled fallen 
trees ; the rocky summit of the mountain itself made 
the southern wall ; the northern was a spur, or ridge, 
nearly vertical, and covered thick with pine-trees. A 
man might roam years on the mountain and not find 
this cleft. At the upper end gushed out a crystal 
spring, which trickled rather than ran, in a bed of 
marshy green, the entire length of the valley, disap- 


RAMONA. 


419 


peared in the rocks at the lower end, and came out 
no more ; ma'ny times Alessandro had searched for it 
lower down, but could find no trace of it. During 
the summer, when he was hunting with Jeff, he had 
several times climbed the wall and descended it on 
the inner side, to see if the rivulet still ran ; and, to his 
joy, had found it the same in July as in January. 
Drought could not harm it, then. What salvation in 
such a spring ! And the water was pure and sweet as 
if it came from the skies. 

A short distance off was another ridge or spur of 
the mountain, widening out into almost a plateau. 
This was covered with acorn-hearing oaks ; and un- 
der them were flat stones worn into hollows, where 
bygone generations of Indians had ground the nuts 
into meal. Generations long bygone indeed, for it 
was not in the memory of the oldest now living, that 
Indians had ventured so high up as this on San 
Jacinto. It was held to be certain death to climb to 
its summit, and foolhardy in the extreme to go far up 
its sides. 

There was exhilaration in the place. It brought 
healing to both Alessandro and Eamona. Even the 
bitter grief for the baby’s death was soothed. She did 
not seem so far off, since they had come so much nearer 
to the sky. They lived at first in a tent ; no time 
to build a house, till the wheat and vegetables were 
planted. Alessandro was surprised, when he came 
to the ploughing, to see how much good land he 
had. The valley thrust itself, in inlets and coves, 
into the very rocks of its southern wall ; lovely shel- 
tered nooks these were, where he hated to wound the 
soft, flower-filled sward with his plough. As soon 
as the planting was done, he began to fell trees for 
the house. No mournful gray adobe this time, but 
walls of hewn pine, with half the bark left on ; alter- 
nate yellow and brown, as gay as if glad hearts had 


420 


RAMONA. 


devised it. The roof, of thatch, tule, and yucca-stalks, 
double laid and thick, was carried out several feet in 
front of the house, making a sort of bower-like ve- 
randa, supported by young fir-tree stems, left rough. 
Once more Ramona would sit under a thatch with 
birds’-nests in it. A little corral for the sheep, and 
a rough shed for the pony, and the home was com- 
plete : far the prettiest home they had ever had. And 
here, in the sunny veranda, when autumn came, sat 
Ramona, plaiting out of fragrant willow twigs a cra- 
dle. The one over which she had wept such bitter 
tears in the valley, they had burned the night before 
they left their Saboba home. It was in early autumn 
she sat plaiting this cradle. The ground around was 
strewn with wild grapes drying ; the bees were feast- 
ing on them in such clouds that Ramona rose fre- 
quently from her work to drive them away, saying, 
as she did so, “Good bees, make our honey from 
something else; we gain nothing if you drain our 
grapes for it ; we want these grapes for the winter ; ” 
and as she spoke, her imagination sped fleetly forward 
to the winter. The Virgin must have forgiven her, 
to give her again the joy of a child in her arms. Ay, 
a joy ! Spite of poverty, spite of danger, spite of all 
that cruelty and oppression could do, it would still 
be a joy to hold her child in her arms. 

The baby was born before winter came. An old 
Indian woman, the same whose house they had hired 
in Saboba, had come up to live with Ramona. She 
was friendless now, her daughter having died, and 
she thankfully came to be as a mother to Ramona. 
She was ignorant and feeble; but Ramona saw in 
her always the picture of what her own mother 
might perchance be, wandering, suffering, she knew 
not what or where ; and her yearning, filial instinct 
found sad pleasure in caring for this lonely, childless, 
aged one. 


RAMONA, 


421 


Ramona was alone with her on the mountain at the 
time of the baby’s birth. Alessandro had gone to the 
valley, to be gone two days ; but Ramona felt no fear. 
When Alessandro returned, and she laid the child in 
his arms, she said with a smile, radiant once more, 
like the old smiles, “ See, beloved ! The Virgin has 
forgiven me ; she has given us a daughter again ! ” 
But Alessandro did not smile. Looking scrutiniz- 
ingly into the baby’s face, he sighed, and said, “ Alas, 
Majella, her eyes are like mine, not yours ! ” 

“ I am glad of it,” cried Ramona. “ I was glad the 
first minute I saw it.” 

He shook his head. “ It is an ill fate to have the 
eyes of Alessandro,” he said. “ They look ever on 
woe ; ” and he laid the baby back on Ramona’s breast, 
and stood gazing sadly at her. 

“ Dear Alessandro,” said Ramona, “ it is a sin to 
always mourn. Father Salvierderra said if we re- 
pined under our crosses, then a heavier cross would 
be laid on us. Worse things would come.” 

“ Yes,” he said. “ That is true. Worse things 
will come.” And he walked away, with his head 
sunk deep on his breast. 


XXIV. 


T HERE was no real healing for Alessandro. His < 
hurts had gone too deep. His passionate heart/ 
ever secretly brooding on the wrongs he had borne, 
the hopeless outlook for his people in the future, and 
most of all on the probable destitution and suffering 
in store for Ramona, consumed itself as by hidden 
fires. Speech, complaint, active antagonism, might 
have saved him ; but all these were foreign to his 
self-contained, reticent, repressed nature. Slowly, so 
slowly that Ramona could not tell on what hour or 
what day her terrible fears first changed to an even 
more terrible certainty, his brain • gave way, and 
the thing, in dread of which he had cried out the 
morning they left San Pasquale, came upon him. 
Strangely enough, and mercifully, now that it had 
really come, he did not know it. He knew that he 
suddenly came to his consciousness sometimes, and 
discovered himself in strange and unexplained situa- 
tions ; had no recollection of what had happened for an 
interval of time, longer or shorter. But he thought 
it was only a sort of sickness ; he did not know that 
during those intervals his acts were the acts of a mad- 
man ; never violent, aggressive, or harmful to any one ; 
never destructive. It was piteous to see how in these 
intervals his delusions were always shaped by the bit- 
terest experiences of his life. Sometimes he fancied 
that the Americans were pursuing, him, or that they 
were carrying off Ramona, and he was pursuing 
them. At such times he would run with maniac 
swiftness for hours, till he fell exhausted on the 


RAMONA. 


423 


ground, and slowly regained true consciousness by 
exhaustion. At other times he believed he owned 
vast fiocks and herds ; would enter any enclosure he 
saw, where there were sheep or cattle, go about among 
them, speak of them to passers-by as his own. Some- 
times he would try to drive them away ; but on being 
remonstrated with, would bewilderedly give up the at- 
tempt. Once he suddenly found himself in the road 
driving a small flock of goats, whose he knew not, nor 
whence he got them. Sitting down by the roadside, 
he buried his head in his hands. “ What has happened 
to my memory ? ” he said. “ I must be ill of a fever ! ” 
As he sat there, the goats, of their own accord, turned 
and trotted back into a corral near by, the owner 
of which stood, laughing, on his door-sill ; and when 
Alessandro came up, said good-naturedly, “ All right, 
Alessandro ! I saw you driving off my goats, but I 
thought you ’d bring ’em back.” 

Everybody in the valley knew him, and knew his 
condition. It did not interfere with his capacity as 
a worker, for the greater part of the time. He was 
one of the best shearers in the region, the best horse- 
breaker; and his services were always in demand, 
spite of the risk thSre was of his having at any time 
one of these attacks of wandering. His absences 
were a great grief to Eamona, not only from the lone- 
liness in which it left her, but from the anxiety she 
felt lest his mental disorder might at any time take a 
more violent and dangerous shape. This anxiety was 
all the more harrowing because she must keep it 
locked in her own breast, her wise and loving instinct 
telling her that nothing could be more fatal to him 
than the knowledge of his real condition. More than 
once he reached home, breathless, panting, the sweat 
rolling off his face, crying aloud, “The Americans 
have found us out, Majella ! They were on the trail ! 
I baffled them. I came up another way.” At such 


424 


RAMONA. 


times she would soothe him like a child ; persuade 
him to lie down and rest ; and when he waked and 
wondered why he was so tired, she would say, “ You 
were all out of breath when you came in, dear. You 
must not climb so fast ; it is foolish to tire one s 
self so.” 

In these days Ramona began to think earnestly of 
Felipe. She believed Alessandro might be cured. A 
wise doctor could surely do something for him. If 
Felipe knew what sore straits she was in, Felipe would 
help her. But how could she reach Felipe without the 
Senora’s knowing it ? And, still more, how could she 
send a letter to Felipe without Alessandro’s knowing 
what she had written ? Ramona was as helpless in her 
freedom on this mountain eyrie as if she had been 
chained hand and foot. 

And so the winter wore away, and the spring. 
What wheat grew in their fields in this upper air ! 
Wild oats, too, in every nook and corner. The goats 
frisked and fattened, and their hair grew long and 
silky; the sheep were already heavy again with wool, 
and it was not yet midsummer. The spring rains 
had been good ; the stream was full, and flowers grew 
along its edges thick as in beds. 

The baby had thrived ; as placid, laughing a little 
thing as if its mother had never known sorrow. 
“ One would think she had suckled pain,” thought 
Ramona, “ so constantly have I grieved this year ; 
but the Virgin has kept her well.” 

If prayers could compass it, that would surely have 
been so ; for night and day the devout, trusting, and 
contrite Ramona had knelt before the Madonna and 
told her golden beads, till they were wellnigh worn 
smooth of all their delicate chasing. 

At midsummer was to be a f6te in the Saboba vil- 
lage, and the San Bernardino priest would come 
there. This would be the time to take the baby 


RAMONA. 


425 


down to be christened ; this also would be the time 
to send the letter to Felipe, enclosed in one to Aunt 
Ei, who would send it for her from San Bernardino. 
Eamona felt half guilty as she sat plotting what she 
should say and how she should send it, — she, who 
had never had in her loyal, transparent breast one 
thought secret from Alessandro since they were 
wedded. But it was all for his sake. When he was 
well, he would thank her. 

She wrote the letter with much study and delibera- 
tion ; her dread of its being read by the Senora was so 
great, that it almost paralyzed her pen as she wrote. 
More than once she destroyed pages, as being too 
sacred a confidence for unloving eyes to read. At 
last, the day before the fete, it was done, and safely 
hidden away. The baby’s white robe, finely wrought 
in open-work, was also done, and freshly washed and 
ironed. No baby would there be at the fete so 
daintily wrapped as hers ; and Alessandro had at 
last given his consent that the name should be Ma- 
jella. It was a reluctant consent, yielded finally only 
to please Eamona ; and, contrary to her wont, she had 
been willing in this instance to have her own wish 
fulfilled rather than his. Her heart was set upon 
having the seal of baptism added to the name she 
so loved ; and, “ If I were to die,” she thought, “ how 
glad Alessandro would be, to have still a Majella ! ” 

All her preparations were completed, and it was 
yet not noon. She seated herself on the veranda to 
watch for Alessandro, who had been two days away, 
and was to have returned the previous evening, to 
make ready for the trip to Saboba. She was dis- 
quieted at his failure to return at the appointed time. 
As the hours crept on and he did not come, her 
anxiety increased. The sun had gone more than an 
hour past the mid-heavens before he came. He had 
ridden fast; she had heard the quick strokes of 


426 


RAMONA. 


the horse’s hoofs on the ground before she saw him. 
“ Why comes he riding like that ? ” she thought, and 
ran to meet him. As he drew near, she saw to her 
surprise that he was riding a new horse. “ Why, 
Alessandro ! ” she cried. “ What horse is this ? ” 

He looked at her bewilderedly, then at the horse. 
True ; it was not his own horse ! He struck his hand 
on his forehead, endeavoring to collect his thoughts. 
“ Where is my horse, then ? ” he said. 

“ My God ! Alessandro,” cried Ramona. “ Take the 
horse hack instantly. They will say you stole it.” 

“ But I left my pony there in the corral,” he said. 
“ They will know I did not mean to steal it. How 
could I ever have made the mistake ? I recollect 
nothing, Majella. I must have had one of the sick- 
nesses.” 

Ramona’s heart was cold with fear. Only too well 
she knew what summary punishment was dealt in 
that region to horse-thieves. “ Oh, let me take it 
back, dear ! ” she cried. “ Let me go down with it. 
They will believe me.” 

“ Majella ! ” he exclaimed, “ think you I would 
send you into the fold of the wolf ? My wood-dove ! 
It is in Jim Farrar’s corral I left my pony. I was 
there last night, to see about his sheep-shearing in 
the autumn. And that is the last I know. I will 
ride back as soon as I have rested. I am heavy with 
sleep.” 

Thinking it safer to let him sleep for an hour, as 
his brain was evidently still confused, Ramona as- 
sented to this, though a sense of danger oppressed 
her. Getting fresh hay from the corral, she with her 
own hands rubbed the horse down. It was a fine, 
powerful black horse ; Alessandro had evidently urged 
him cruelty up the steep trail, for his sides were steam- 
ing, his nostrils white with foam. Tears stood in 
Ramona’s eyes as she did what she could for him. 


RAMONA. 


427 


He recognized her good-will, and put his nose to her 
face. “It must be because he was black like Benito, 
that Alessandro took him,” she thought. “ Oh, Mary 
Mother, help us to get the creature safe back!” she 
said. 

When she went into the house, Alessandro was 
asleep. Ramona glanced at the sun. It was al- 
ready in the western sky. By no possibility could 
Alessandro go to Farrar’s and back before dark. She 
was on the point of waking him, when a furious 
barking from Capitan and the other dogs roused him 
instantly from his sleep, and springing to his feet, he 
ran out to see what it meant. In a moment more 
Ramona followed, — only a moment, hardly a moment; 
but when she reached the threshold, it was to hear a 
gun-shot, to see Alessandro fall to the ground, to see, 
in the same second, a ruffianly man leap from his 
horse, and standing over Alessandro’s body, fire his 
pistol again, once, twice, into the forehead, cheek. 
Then with a volley of oaths, each word of which 
seemed to Ramona’s reeling senses to fill the air with 
a sound like thunder, he untied the black horse from 
the post where Ramona had fastened him, and leap- 
ing into his saddle again, galloped away, leading 
the horse. As he rode away, he shook his fist at 
Ramona, who was kneeling on the ground, striving to 
lift Alessandro’s head, and to stanch the blood flow- 
ing from the ghastly wounds. “ That ’ll teach you 
damned Indians to leave off stealing our horses!” he 
cried, and with another volley of terrible oaths was 
out of sight. 

With a calmness which was more dreadful than 
any wild outcry of grief, Ramona sat on the ground 
by Alessandro’s body, and held his hands in hers. 
There was nothing to be done for him. The first shot 
had been fatal, close to his heart, — the murderer aimed 
well ; the after-shots, with the pistol, were from mere 


428 


RAMONA. 


wanton brutality. After a few seconds Eamona rose, 
went into the house, brought out the white altar-cloth, 
and laid it over the mutilated face. As she did 
this, she recalled words she had heard Father Salvier- 
derra quote as having been said by Father Junipero, 
when one of the Franciscan Fathers had been mas- 
sacred by the Indians, at San Diego. “ Thank God ! ” 
he said, “ the ground is now watered by the blood of 
a martyr ! ” 

“ The blood of a martyr! ” The words seemed to float 
in the air ; to cleanse it from the foul blasphemies the 
murderer had spoken. “ My Alessandro ! ” she said. 
“ Gone to be with the saints ; one of the blessed mar- 
tyrs ; they will listen to what a martyr says.” His 
hands were warm. She laid them in her bosom, kissed 
them again and again. Stretching herself on the 
ground by his side, she threw one arm over him, and 
whispered in his ear, “ My love, my Alessandro ! Oh, 
speak once to Majella ! Why do I not grieve more ? 
My Alessandro ! Is he not blest already ? And soon 
we will be with him ! The burdens were too great. 
He could not bear them ! ” Then waves of grief 
broke over her, and she sobbed convulsively ; but still 
she shed no tears. Suddenly she sprang to her feet, 
and looked wildly around. The sun was not many 
hours high. Whither should she go for help ? The 
old Indian woman had gone away with the sheep, 
and would not be back till dark. Alessandro must 
not lie there on the ground. To whom should she 
go ? To walk to Saboba was out of the question. 
There was another Indian village nearer, — the village 
of the Cahuillas, on one of the high plateaus of San 
Jacinto. She had once been there. Could she find 
that trail now ? She must try. There was no human 
help nearer. 

Taking the baby in her arms, she knelt by Ales- 
sandro, and kissing him, whispered, “ Farewell, my 


RAMONA. 429 

beloved. I will not be long gone. I go to bring 
friends.” As she set off, swiftly running, Capitan, 
who had been lying by Alessandro’s side, uttering 
heart-rending howls, bounded to his feet to follow 
her. “ No, Capitan,” she said ; and leading him back 
to the body, she took his head in her hands, looked 
into his eyes, and said, “ Capitan, watch here.” With 
a whimpering cry, he licked her hands, and stretched 
himself on the ground. He understood, and would 
obey ; but his eyes followed her wistfully till she 
disappeared from sight. 

The trail was rough, and hard to find. More than 
once Eamona stopped, baffled, among the rocky ridges 
and precipices. Her clothes were torn, her face bleed- 
ing, from the thorny shrubs ; her feet seemed leaden, 
she made her way so slowly. It was dark in the ra- 
vines; as she climbed spur after spur, and still saw 
nothing but pine forests or bleak opens, her heart sank 
within her. The way had not seemed so long before. 
Alessandro had been with her ; it was a joyous, bright 
day, and they had lingered wherever they liked, and 
yet the way had seemed short. Fear seized her that 
she was lost. If that were so, before morning she 
w'ould be with Alessandro ; for fierce beasts roamed 
San Jacinto by night. But for the baby’s sake, she 
must not die. Feverishly she pressed on. At last, 
just as it had grown so dark she could see only a few 
hand-breadths before her, and was panting more from 
terror than from running, lights suddenly gleamed 
out, only a few rods ahead. It was the Cahuilla 
village. In'a few moments she was there. 

It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla 
village, — a cluster of tule and adobe huts, oh a nar- 
row bit of bleak and broken ground, on San Jacinto 
Mountain ; the people are very poor, but are j>roud 
and high-spirited, — veritable mountaineers in nature, 
fierce and independent. 


430 


RAMONA. 


Alessandro had warm friends among them, and the 
news that he had been murdered, and that his wife 
had run all the way down the mountain, with her 
baby in her arms, for help, went like wild-fire through 
the place. The people gathered in an excited group 
around the house where Eamona had taken refuge. 
She was lying, half unconscious, on a bed. As soon 
as she had gasped out her terrible story, she had 
fallen forward on the floor, fainting, and the baby 
had been snatched from her arms just in time to 
save it. She did mot seem to miss the child ; had 
not asked for it, or noticed it when it was brought 
to the bed. A merciful oblivion seemed to be fast 
stealing over her senses. But she had spoken words 
enough to set the village in a blaze of excitement. It 
ran higher and higher. Men were everywhere mount- 
ing their horses, — some to go up and bring Ales- 
sandro’s body down ; some organizing a party to go 
at once to Jim Farrar’s house and shoot him : these 
were the younger men, friends of Alessandro. Earn- 
estly the aged Capitan of the village implored them 
to refrain from such violence. 

“Why should ten be dead instead of one, my 
sons ? ” he said. “ Will you leave your wives and your 
children like his ? The whites will kill us all if you 
lay hands on the man. Perhaps they themselves will 
punish him.” 

A derisive laugh rose from the group. Never yet 
within their experience had a white man been pun- 
ished for shooting an Indian. The Capitan knew 
that as well as they did. Why did he command them 
to sit still like women, and do nothing, when a friend 
was murdered ? 

“ Because I am old, and you are young. I have 
seen that we fight in vain,” said the wise old man. 
“ It is not sweet to me, any more than to you. It is 
a fire in my veins ; but I am old. I have seen. I 
forbid you to go.” 


RAMONA. 


431 


The women added their entreaties to his, and the 
young men abandoned their project. But it was with 
sullen reluctance ; and mutterings were to be heard, 
on all sides, that' the time would come yet. There 
was more than one way of killing a man. Farrar 
would not be long seen in the valley. Alessandro 
should be avenged. 

As Farrar rode slowly down the mountain, leading 
his recovered horse, he revolved in his thoughts what 
course to pursue. A few years before, he would have 
gone home, no more disquieted at having killed an 
Indian than if he had killed a fox or a wolf. But 
things were different now. This Agent, that the 
Government had taken it into its head to send out 
to look after the Indians, had made it hot, the other 
day, for some fellows in San Bernardino who had 
maltreated an Indian ; he had even gone so far as to 
arrest several liquor-dealers for simply selling whis- 
key to Indians. If he were to take this case of Ales- 
sandro’s in hand, it might be troublesome. Farrar 
concluded that his wisest course would be to make a 
show of good conscience and fair-dealing by deliver- 
ing himself up at once to the nearest justice of the 
peace, as having killed a man in self-defence. Ac- 
cordingly he rode straight to the house of a Judge 
Wells, a few miles below Saboba, and said that he 
wished to surrender himself as having committed 
“justifiable homicide” on an Indian, or Mexican, 
he did not know which, who had stolen his horse. 
He told a plausible story. He professed not to know 
the man, or the place ; but did not explain how it 
was, that, knowing neither, he had gone so direct to 
the spot. 

He said : “ I followed the trail for some time, but 
when I reached a turn, I came into a sort of blind 
trail, where I lost the track. I think the horse had 
been led up on hard sod, to mislead any one on the 


432 


RAMONA. 


track. I pushed on, crossed the creek, and soon found 
the tracks again in soft ground. This part of the 
mountain was perfectly unknown to me, and very 
wild. Finally I came to a ridge, from which I looked 
down on a little ranch. As I came near the house, 
the dogs began to bark, just as I discovered my 
horse tied to a tree. Hearing the dogs, an Indian, or 
Mexican, I could not tell which, came out of the house, 
flourishing a large knife. I called out to him, ‘ Whose 
horse is that ? * He answered in Spanish, ‘ It is 
mine.’ ‘ Where did you get it ? * I asked. ‘ In San 
Jacinto,’ was his reply. As he still came towards 
me, brandishing the knife, I drew my gun, and said, 
‘ Stop, or I ’ll shoot I ’ He did not stop, and I fired ; 
still he did not stop, so I fired again ; and as he did 
not fall, I knocked him down with the butt of my 
gun. After he was down, I shot him twice with my 
pistol.” 

The duty of a justice in such a case as this was 
clear. Taking the prisoner into custody, he sent out 
messengers to summon a jury of six men to hold 
inquest on the body of said Indian, or Mexican ; and 
early the next morning, led by Farrar, they set out 
for the mountain. When they reached the ranch, 
the body had been removed ; the house was locked ; 
no signs left of the tragedy of the day before, except 
a few blood-stains on the ground, where Alessandro 
had fallen. Farrar seemed greatly relieved at this 
unexpected phase of affairs. However, when he 
found that Judge Wells, instead of attempting to 
return to the valley that night, proposed to pass the 
night at a ranch only a few miles from the Cahuilla 
village, he became almost hysterical with fright. He 
declared that the Cahuillas would surely come and 
murder him* in the night, and begged piteously that 
the men would all stay with him to guard him. 

At midnight Judge Wells was roused by the 


RAMONA. 


433 


arrival of the Capitan and head men of the Cahuilla 
village. They had heard of his arrival with his jury, 
and they had come to lead them to their village, 
where the body of the murdered man lay. They 
were greatly distressed on learning that they ought 
not to have removed the body from the spot where 
the death had taken place, and that now no inquest 
could be held. 

Judge Wells himself, however, went back with them, 
saw the body, and heard the full account of the 
murder as given by Ramona on her first arrival. 
Nothing more could now be learned from her, as she 
was in high fever and delirium; knew no one, not 
even her baby when they laid it on her breast. She 
lay restlessly tossing from side to side, talking inces- 
santly, clasping her rosary in her hands, and con- 
stantly mingling snatches of prayers with cries for 
Alessandro and Felipe; the only token of conscious- 
ness she gave was to clutch the rosary wildly, and 
sometimes hide it in her bosom, if they attempted 
to take it from her. 

Judge Wells was a frontiersman, and by no means 
sentimentally inclined ; but the tears stood in his 
eyes as he looked at the unconscious Ramona. 

Farrar had pleaded that the preliminary hearing 
might take place immediately; but after this visit to 
the village, the judge refused his request, and ap- 
pointed the trial a week from that day, to give time 
for Ramona to recover, and appear as a witness. He 
impressed upon the Indians as strongly as he could 
the importance of having her appear. It was evident 
that Farrar’s account of the affair was false from first 
to last. Alessandro had no knife. He had not had 
time to go many steps from the door ; the volley of 
oaths, and the two shots almost simultaneously, were 
what Ramona heard as she ran to. the door. Alessan- 
dro could not have spoken many words. 

28 


434 


RAMONA. 


The day for the hearing came. Farrar had been, 
during the interval, in a merely nominal custody; 
having been allowed to go about his business, on his 
own personal guarantee - of appearing in time for the 
trial. It was with a strange mixture of regret and 
relief that Judge Wells saw the hour of the trial ar- 
rive, and not a witness on the ground except Farrar 
himself. That Farrar was a brutal, ruffian, the whole 
country knew. This last outrage was only one of a 
long series; the judge would have been glad to have 
committed him for trial, and have seen him get 
his deserts. But San Jacinto Yalley, wild, sparsely 
settled as it was, had yet as fixed standards and 
criterions of popularity as the most civilized of 
■communities could show; and to betray sympathy 
with Indians was more than any man’s political head 
was worth. The word “justice” had lost its meaning, 
if indeed it ever had any, so far as they were con- 
cerned. The valley was a unit on that question, 
however divided it might be upon others. On the 
whole, the judge was relieved, though it was not with- 
out a bitter twinge, as of one accessory after the 
deed, and unfaithful to a friend ; for he had known 
Alessandro well. Yet, on the whole, he was relieved 
when he was forced to accede to the motion made 
by Farrar’s counsel, that “ the prisoner be discharged 
on ground of justifiable homicide, no witnesses having 
appeared against him.” 

He comforted himself by thinking — what was no 
doubt true — that even if the case had been brought 
to a jury trial, the result would have been the same ; 
for there would never have been found a San Diego 
County jury that would convict a white man of mur- 
der for killing an Indian, if there were no witnesses to 
the occurrence except the Indian wife. But he derived 
small comfort from this. Alessandro’s face haunted 
him, and also the memory of Bamona’s, as she lay 


RAMONA. 


435 


tossing and moaning in the wretched Cahuilla hovel. 
He knew that only her continued illness, or her death, 
could explain her not having come to the trial. The 
Indians would have brought her in their arms all 
the way, if she had been alive and in possession of 
her senses. 

During the summer that she and Alessandro had 
lived in Saboba he had seen her many times, and 
had been impressed by her rare quality. His chil- 
dren knew her and loved her ; had often been in her 
house; his wife hg,d bought her embroidery. Ales- 
sandro also had worked for him ; and no one knew 
better than Judge Wells that Alessandro in his 
senses was as incapable of stealing a horse as any 
white man in the valley. Farrar knew it; every- 
body knew it. Everybody knew, also, about his 
strange fits of wandering mind ; and that when these 
half-crazed fits came on him, he was wholly irre- 
sponsible. Farrar knew this. The only explanation 
of Farrar’s deed was, that on seeing his horse spent 
and exhausted from having been forced up that ter- 
rible trail, he was seized by ungovernable rage, and 
fired on the second, without knowing what he did. 
« But he would n’t have done it, if it had n’t been 
an Indian ! ” mused the judge. “ He ’d ha’ thought 
twice before he shot any white man down, that 
way.” 

Day after day such thoughts as these pursued the 
judge, and he could not shake them off. An uneasy 
sense that he owed something to Ramona, or, if 
Ramona were dead, to the little child she had left, 
haunted him. There might in some such way be a 
sort of atonement made to the murdered, unavenged 
Alessandro. He might even take the child, and bring 
it up in his own house. That was by no means 
an uncommon thing in the valley. The longer he 
thought, the more he felt himself eased in his mind 


436 


RAMONA. 


by this purpose ; and he decided that as soon as he 
could find leisure he would go to the Cahuilla village 
and see what could be done. 

But it was not destined that stranger hands should 
bring succor to Bamona. Felipe had at last found 
trace of her. Felipe was on the way. 


XXV. 



FFECTUALLY misled by the faithful Carmena, 


JLli Felipe had begun his search for Alessandro by 
going direct to Monterey. He found few Indians 
in the place, and not one had ever heard Alessandro’s 
name. Six miles from the town was a little settle- 
ment of them, in hiding, in the bottoms of the San 
Carlos River, near the old Mission. The Catholic 
priest advised him to search there ; sometimes, he 
said, fugitives of one sort and another took refuge, in 
this settlement, lived there for a few months, then 
disappeared as noiselessly as they had come. Felipe 
searched there also ; equally in vain. 

He questioned all the sailors in port ; all the ship- 
pers. No one had heard of an Indian shipping on 
board any vessel ; in fact, a captain would have to be 
in straits before he would take an Indian in his crew. 

“ But this was an exceptionally good worker, this 
Indian ; he could turn his hand to anything ; he might 
have gone as ship’s carpenter.” 

“ That might be,” they said ; “ nobody had ever 
heard of any such thing, however ; ” and very much 
they all wondered what it was that made the hand- 
some, sad Mexican gentleman so anxious to find this 
Indian. 

Felipe wasted weeks in Monterey. Long after he 
had ceased to hope, he lingered. He felt as if he would 
like to stay till every ship that had sailed out of Mon- 
terey in the last three years had returned. Whenever 
he heard of one coming into harbor, he hastened to 
the shore, and closely watched the disembarking. His 


438 


RAMONA. 


melancholy countenance, with its eager, searching 
look, became a familiar sight to every one ; even the 
children knew that the pale gentleman was looking 
for some one he could not find. Women pitied him, 
and gazed at him tenderly, wondering if a man could 
look like that for anything save the loss of a sweet- 
heart. Felipe made no confidences. He simply asked, 
day after day, of every one he met, for an Indian 
named Alessandro Assis. 

Finally he shook himself free from the dreamy spell 
of the place, and turned his face southward again. 
He went by the route which the Franciscan Fathers 
used to take, when the only road on the California 
coast was the one leading from Mission to Mission. 
Felipe had heard Father Salvierderra say that there 
were in the neighborhood of each of the old Missions 
Indian villages, or families still living. He thought 
it not improbable that, from Alessandro’s father’s long 
connection with the San Luis Hey Mission, Alessan- 
dro might be known to some of these Indians. He 
would leave no stone unturned; no Indian village 
unsearched ; no Indian unquestioned. 

San Juan Bautista came first ; then Soledad, San 
Antonio, San Miguel, San Luis Obispo, Santa Inez ; 
and that brought him to Santa Barbara. He had 
spent two months on the journey. At each of these 
places he found Indians ; miserable, half-starved 
creatures, most of them. Felipe’s heart ached, and 
he was hot with shame, at their condition. The ruins 
of the old Mission buildings were sad to see, but the 
human ruins were sadder. Now Felipe understood 
why Father Salvierderra’s heart had broken, and why 
his mother had been full of such fierce indignation 
against the heretic usurpers and despoilers of the 
estates which the Franciscans once held. He could 
not understand why the Church had submitted, with- 
out fighting, to such indignities and robberies. At 


RAMONA. 


439 


every one of the Missions he heard harrowing tales 
of the sufferings of those Fathers who had clung to 
their congregations to the last, and died at their posts. 
At Soledad an old Indian, weeping, showed him the 
grave of Father Sarria, who had died there of starva- 
tion. “ He gave us all he had, to the last,” said the 
old man. “ He lay on a raw-hide on the ground, as 
we did ; and one morning, before he had finished 
the mass, he fell forward at the altar and was dead. 
And when we put him in the grave, his body was only 
bones, and no flesh ; he had gone so long without 
food, to give it to us.” 

At all these Missions Felipe asked in vain for 
Alessandro. They knew very little, these northern 
Indians, about those in the south, they said. It was 
seldom one from the southern tribes came northward. 
They did not understand each other’s speech. The 
more Felipe inquired, and the longer he reflected, the 
more he doubted Alessandro’s having ever gone to 
Monterey. At Santa Barbara he made a long stay. 
The Brothers at the College welcomed him hospitably. 
They had heard from Father Salvierderra the sad 
story of Ramona, and were distressed, with Felipe, that 
no traces had been found of her. It grieved Father 
Salvierderra to the last, they said ; he prayed for her 
daily, but said he could not get any certainty in his 
spirit of his prayers being heard. Only the day 
before he died, he had said this to Father Francis, 
a young Brazilian monk, to whom he was greatly 
attached. 

In Felipe’s overwrought frame of mind this seemed 
to him a terrible omen ; and he set out on his journey 
with a still heavier heart than before. He believed 
Ramona was dead, buried in some unknown, uncon- 
secrated spot, never to be found ; yet he would not 
give up the search. As he journeyed southward, he 
began to find persons who had known of Alessandro : 


440 


RAMONA. 


and still more, those who had known his father, old 
Pablo. But no one had heard anything of Alessan- 
dro’s whereabouts since the driving out of his people 
from Temecula ; there was no knowing where any of 
those Temecula people were now. They had scat- 
tered “ like a flock of ducks,” one Indian said, — 
“like a flock of ducks after they are fired into. 
You ’d never see all those ducks in any one place 
again. The Temecula people were here, there, and 
everywhere, all through San Diego County. There 
was one Temecula man at San J uan Capistrano, how- 
ever. The Senor would better see him. He no doubt 
knew about Alessandro. He was living in a room in 
the old Mission building. The priest had given it 
to him for taking care of the chapel and the priest’s 
room, and a little rent besides. He was a hard man, 
the San J uan Capistrano priest ; he would take the 
last dollar from a poor man.” 

It was late at night when Felipe reached San Juan 
Capistrano ; but he could not sleep till he had seen 
this man. ' Here was the first clew he had gained. 
He found the man, with his wife and children, in a 
large corner room opening on the inner court of the 
Mission quadrangle. The room was dark and damp 
as a cellar ; a fire smouldered in the enormous fire- 
place ; a few skins and rags were piled near the 
hearth, and on these lay the woman, evidently ill. 
The sunken tile floor was icy cold to the" feet ; the 
wind swept in at a dozen broken places in the cor- 
ridor side of the wall; there was not an article of 
furniture. “Heavens!” thought Felipe, as he en- 
tered, “ a priest of our Church take rent for such 
a hole as this ! ” 

There was no light in the place, except the little 
which came from the fire. “ I am sorry I have no 
candle, Senor,” said the man, as he came forward. 
“ My wife is sick, and we are very poor.” 


RAMONA. 


441 


“No matter,” said Felipe, his hand already at his 
purse. “ I only want to ask you a few questions. 
You are from Temecula, they tell me.” 

“ Yes, Seiior,” the man replied in a dogged tone, — 
no man of Temecula could yet hear the word without 
a pang, — “I was of Temecula.” 

“ I want to find one Alessandro Assis who lived 
there. You knew him, I suppose,” said Felipe, 
eagerly. 

At this moment a brand broke in the smouldering 
fire, and for one second a bright blaze shot up ; only 
for a second, then all was dark again. But the swift 
blaze had fallen on Felipe’s face, and with a start 
which he could not control, but which Felipe did not 
see, the Indian had recognized him. “ Ha, ha ! ” he 
thought to himself. “ Senor Felipe Moreno, you come 
to the wrong house asking for news of Alessandro 
Assis!” 

It was Antonio, — Antonio, who had been at the 
Moreno sheep-shearing ; Antonio, who knew even 
more than Carmen a had known, for he knew what a 
marvel and miracle it seemed that the beautiful 
Senorita from the Moreno house should have loved 
Alessandro, and wedded him ; and he knew that on 
the night she went away with him, Alessandro had 
lured out of the corral a beautiful horse for her to 
ride. Alessandro had told him all about it, — Baba, 
fiery, splendid Baba, black as night, with a white star 
in his forehead. Saints ! but it was a bold thing to 
do, to steal such a horse as that, with a star for a 
mark ; and no wonder that even now, though near 
three years afterwards, Seiior Felipe was in search of 
him. Of course it could be only the horse he wanted. 
Ha ! much help might he get from Antonio I 

“ Yes, Senor, I knew him,” he replied. 

“ Do you know where he is now ? ” 

“ No, Senor.” 


442 


RAMONA. 


“ Do you know where he went, from Temecula ? ” 

“ No, Seiior.” 

“ A woman told me he went to Monterey. I have 
been there looking for him.” 

“ I heard, too, he had gone to Monterey.” 

“ Where did you see him last ? ” 

“ In Temecula.” 

“ Was he alone ? ” 

“ Yes, Senor.” . 

“ Did you ever hear of his being married ? ” 

“ No, Senor.” 

“ Where are the greater part of the Temecula peo- 
ple now ? ” 

“ Like this, Seiior,” with a bitter gesture, pointing 
to his wife. “ Most of us are beggars. A few here, 
a few there. Some have gone to Capitan Grande, 
some way down into Lower California.” 

Wearily Felipe continued his bootless questioning. 
No suspicion that the man was deceiving him crossed 
his mind. At last, with a sigh, he said, " I hoped to 
have found Alessandro by your means. I am greatly 
disappointed.” 

“ I doubt not that, Senor Felipe Moreno,” thought 
Antonio. “ I am sorry, Senor,” he said. 

It smote his conscience when Felipe laid in his 
hand a generous gold-piece, and said, “ Here is a bit 
of money for you. I am sorry to see you so poorly 
off.” 

The thanks which he spoke sounded hesitating 
and gruff, so remorseful did he feel. Seiior Felipe 
had always been kind to them. How well they had 
fared always in his house ! It was a shame to lie to 
him ; yet the first duty was to Alessandro. It could 
not be avoided. And thus a second time help drifted 
away from Ramona. 

At Temecula, from Mrs. Hartsel, Felipe got the 
first true intelligence of Alessandro’s movements ; 


RAMONA. 


443 


but at first it only confirmed his worst forebodings. 
Alessandro had been at Mrs. Hartsel’s house; he 
had been alone, and on foot ; he was going to walk 
all the way to San Pasquale, where he had the prom- 
ise of work. 

How sure the kindly woman was that she was 
telling the exact truth. After long ransacking of her 
memory and comparing of events, she fixed the time 
so nearly to the true date, that it was to Felipe’s mind 
a terrible corroboration of his fears. It was, he thought, 
about a week after Ramona’s flight from home that 
Alessandro had appeared thus, alone, on foot, at Mrs. 
Hartsel’s. In great destitution, she said ; and she had 
lent him money on the expectation of selling his 
violin ; but they had never sold it ; there it was yet. 
And that Alessandro was dead, she had no more 
doubt than that she herself was alive ; for else, he 
would have come back to pay her what he owed. 
The honestest fellow that ever lived, was Alessandro. 
Did not the Seiior Moreno think so ? Had he not 
found him so always ? There were not many such 
Indians as Alessandro and his father. If there had 
been, it wmuld have been better for their people. 
“ If they ’d all been like Alessandro, I tell you,” she 
said, “ it would have taken more than any San 
Diego sheriff to have* put them out of their homes 
here.” 

“ But what could they do to help themselves, Mrs. 
Hartsel ? ” asked Felipe. “ The law was against them. 
We can’t any of us go against that. I myself have 
lost half my estate in the same way.” 

“ Well, at any rate they would n’t have gone without 
fighting ! ” she said. “ ‘ If Alessandro had been here ! ’ 
they all said.” 

Felipe asked to see the violin. “ But that is not 
Alessandro’s,” he exclaimed. “ I have seen his.” 

“ Ho ! ” she said. “Did I say it was his ? It was 


444 


RAMONA. 


his father’s. One of the Indians brought it in here 
to hide it with us at the time they were driven out. 
It is very old, they say, and worth a great deal of 
money, if you could find the right man to buy it. 
But he has not come along yet. He will, though. I 
am not a bit afraid but that we’ll get our money 
back on it. If Alessandro w^as alive, he ’d have been 
here long before this.” 

Finding Mrs. Hartsel thus friendly, Felipe suddenly 
decided to tell her the whole story. Surprise and in- 
credulity almost overpowered her at first. She sat 
buried in thought for some minutes ; then she sprang to 
herfeet, and cried : “ If he ’s got that girl with him, he ’s 
hiding somewhere. There ’s nothing like an Indian 
to hide ; and if he is hiding, every other Indian knows 
if, and you just waste your breath asking any ques- 
tions of any of them. They will die before they will 
tell you one thing. They are as secret as the grave. 
And they, every one of them, worshipped Alessandro. 
You see they thought he would be over them, after 
Pablo, and they were all proud of him because he 
could read and write, and knew more than most of 
them. If I were in your place,” she continued, “ I 
would not give it up yet. I should go to San Pas- 
quale. Now it might just be that she was along 
with him that night he stopped here, hid somewhere, 
while he came in to get the money. I know I urged 
him to stay all night, and he said he could not do it. 
I don’t know, though, where he could possibly have 
left her while he came here.” 

Never in all her life had Mrs. Hartsel been so 
puzzled and so astonished as now. But her sympathy, 
and her confident belief that Alessandro might yet 
be found, gave unspeakable cheer to Felipe. 

“ If I find them, I shall take them home with me, 
Mrs. Hartsel,” he said as he rode away ; “ and we will 
come by this road and stop to see you.” And the very 


RAMONA. 


445 


speaking of the words cheered him all the way to San 
Pasquale. 

But before he had been in San Pasquale an hour, 
he was plunged into a perplexity and disappointment 
deeper than he had yet felt. He found the village in 
disorder, the fields neglected, many houses deserted, 
the remainder of the people preparing to move away. 
In the house of Ysidro, Alessandro’s kinsman, was 
living a white family, — the family of a man who had 
pre-empted the greater part of the land on which the 
village stood. Ysidro, profiting by Alessandro’s ex- 
ample, when he found that there was no help, that 
the American had his papers from the land-office, in 
all due form, certifying that the land was his, had 
given the man his option of paying for the house or 
having it burned down. The man had bought the 
house ; and it was only the week before Felipe ar- 
rived, that Ysidro had set off, with all his goods and 
chattels, for Mesa Grande. He might possibly have 
told the Senor more, the people said, than any one 
now in the village could ; but even Ysidro did not 
know where Alessandro intended to settle. He told 
no one. He went to the north. That was all they 
knew. 

To the north ! That north which Felipe thought 
he had thoroughly searched. He sighed at the word. 
The Seiior could, if he liked, see the house in 
which Alessandro had lived. There it was, on the 
south side of the valley, just in the edge of the foot- 
hills ; some Americans lived in it now. Such a good 
ranch Alessandro had ; the best wheat in the valley. 
The American had paid Alessandro something for it, — 
they did not know how much ; but Alessandro was 
very lucky to get anything. If only they had lis- 
tened to him. He was always telling them this 
would come. Now it was too late for most of them 
to get anything for their farms. One man had taken 


446 


RAMONA. 


the whole of the village lands, and he had bought 
Ysidro’s house because it was the best; and so they 
would not get anything. They were utterly dis- 
heartened, broken-spirited. 

In his sympathy for them, Felipe almost forgot 
his own distresses. “ Where are you going ? ” he 
asked of several. 

“ Who knows, Senor ? ” was their reply. “ Where 
can we go ? There is no place.” 

When, in reply to his questions in regard to Ales- 
sandro’s wife, Felipe heard her spoken of as “ Majella,” 
his perplexity deepened. Finally he asked if no one 
had ever heard the name Eamona. 

“ Never.” 

What could it mean ? Could it be possible that 
this was another Alessandro than the one of whom he 
was in search ? Felipe bethought himself of a possi- 
ble marriage-record. Did they know where Alessandro 
had married this wife of his, of whom every word 
they spoke seemed both like and unlike Eamona ? 

Yes. • It was in San Diego they had been married, 
by Father Gaspara. 

Hoping against hope, the baffled Felipe rode on to 
San Diego ; and here, as ill-luck would have it, he 
found, not Father Gaspara, who would at his first 
word have understood all, but a young Irish priest, 
who had only just come to be Father Gaspara’s assist- 
ant. Father Gaspara was away in the mountains, 
at Santa Ysabel. But the young assistant would do 
equally well, to examine the records. He was cour- 
teous and kind ; brought out the tattered old book, and, 
looking over his shoulder, his breath coming fast with 
excitement and fear, there Felipe read, in Father 
Gaspara’s hasty and blotted characters, the fatal entry 
of the names, “ Alessandro Assis and Majella Fa — ” 

Heart-sick, Felipe went away. Most certainly Ea- 
mona would never have been married under any but 


RAMONA. 


447 


her own name. Who, then, was this woman whom 
Alessandro Assis had married in less than ten days 
from the night on which Ramona had left her home ? 
Some Indian woman for whom he felt compassion, 
or to whom he was hound by previous ties ? And 
where, in what lonely, forever hidden spot, was the 
grave of Ramona ? 

Now at last Felipe felt sure that she was dead. It 
was useless searching farther. Yet, after he reached 
home, his restless conjectures took one more turn, 
and he sat down and wrote a letter to every priest 
between San Diego and Monterey, asking if there 
were on his books a record of the marriage of one 
Alessandro Assis and Ramona Ortegna. 

It was not impossible that there might be, after 
all, another Alessandro Assis. The old Fathers, in 
baptizing their tens of thousands of Indian con- 
verts, were sore put to it to make out names enough. 
There might have been another Assis besides old 
Pablo, and of Alessandros there were dozens every- 
where. 

This last faint hope also failed. No record any- 
where of an Alessandro Assis, except in Father Gas- 
para's book. 

As Felipe was riding out of San Pasquale, he had 
seen an Indian man and woman walking by the side 
of mules heavily laden. Two little children, too 
young or too feeble to walk, were so packed in among 
the bundles that Iheir faces were the only part of 
them in sight. The woman w T as crying bitterly. 
“ More of these exiles. God help the poor creatures l ” 
thought Felipe ; and he pulled out his purse, and gave 
the woman a piece of gold. She looked up in as 
great astonishment as if the money had fallen from 
the skies. “ Thanks ! Thanks, Senor ! ” she exclaimed ; 
and the man coming up to Felipe said also, “God 
reward you, Senor ! That is more money than I 


448 


RAMONA. 


Lad in the world ! Does the Senor know of any 
place where I could get work ? ” 

Felipe longed to say, “Yes, come to my estate; 
there you shall have work!” In the olden time 
he would have done it without a second thought, 
for both the man and the woman had good faces, — 
were young and strong. But the pay-roll of the 
Moreno estate was even now too long for its dwin- 
dled fortunes. “No, my man, I am sorry to say I 
do not,” he answered. “I live a long way from 
here. Where were you thinking of going ? ” 

“ Somewhere in San Jacinto,” said the man. “ They 
say the Americans have not come in there much yet. 
I have a brother living there. Thanks, Senor ; may 
the saints reward you ! ” 

“San Jacinto!” After Felipe returned home, the 
name haunted his thoughts. The grand mountain- 
top bearing that name he had known well in many 
a distant horizon. “ Juan Can,” he said one day, “ are 
there many Indians in San Jacinto ? ” 

“ The mountain ? ” said Juan Can. 

“ Ay, I suppose, the mountain,” said Felipe. “ What 
else is there ? ” 

“ The valley, too,” replied Juan. “ The San Jacinto 
Valley is a fine, broad valley, though the river is not 
much to be counted on. It is mostly dry sand a 
good part of the year. But there is good grazing. 
There is one village of Indians I know in the valley ; 
some of the San Luis Bey Indians' came from there ; 
and up on the mountain is a big village ; the wildest 
Indians in all the country live there. Oh, they are 
fierce, Senor ! ” 

The next morning Felipe set out for San Jacinto. 
Why had no one mentioned, why had he not him- 
self known, of these villages ? Perhaps there were 
yet others he had not heard of. Hope sprang in 
Felipe’s impressionable nature as easily as it died 


RAMONA. 


449 


An hour, a moment, might see him both lifted up 
and cast down. When he* rode into the sleepy little 
village street of San Bernardino, and saw, in the 
near horizon, against the southern sky, a superb 
mountain-peak, changing in the sunset lights from 
turquoise to ruby, and from ruby to turquoise again, 
he said to himself, “ She is there ! I have found her ! ” 

The sight of the mountain affected him, as it had 
always affected Aunt Ri, with an indefinable, solemn 
sense of something revealed, yet hidden. “ San Ja- 
cinto ? ” he said to a bystander, pointing to it with his 
whip. 

“Yes, Senor,” replied the man. As he spoke, a 
pair of black horses came whirling round the cor- 
ner, and he sprang to one side, narrowly escaping 
being knocked down. “ That Tennessee fellow ’ll run 
over somebody yet, with those black devils of his, if 
he don’t look out,” he muttered, as he recovered his 
balance. 

Felipe glanced at the horses, then driving his 
spurs deep into his horse’s sides, galloped after them. 
“ Baba ! by God ! ” he cried aloud in his excitement ; 
and forgetful of everything, he urged his horse faster, 
shouting as he rode, “Stop that man! Stop that 
man with the black horses ! ” 

Jos, hearing his name called on all sides, reined in 
Benito and Baba as soon as he could, and looked 
around in bewilderment to see what had happened. 
Before he had time to ask any questions, Felipe had 
overtaken him, and riding straight to Baba’s head, 
had flung himself from his own horse and taken 
Baba by the rein, crying, “ Baba ! Baba ! ” Baba 
knew his voice, and began to whinny and plunge. 
Felipe was nearly unmanned. For the second, he 
forgot everything. A crowd was gathering around 
them. It had never been quite clear to the San Ber- 
nardino mind that Jos’s title to Benito and Baba 
29 


450 


RAMONA. 


would bear looking into ; and it was no surprise, 
therefore, to some of the on-lookers, to hear Felipe 
cry in a loud voice, looking suspiciously at Jos, 
“ How did you get him ? ” 

Jos was a wag, and Jos was never hurried. The 
man did not live, nor could the occasion arrive, which 
would quicken his constitutional drawl. Before even 
beginning his answer he crossed one leg over the 
other and took a long, observant look at Felipe ; 
then in a pleasant voice he said: “Wall, Senor, — 
I allow yer air a Senor by yer color, — it would 
take right smart uv time tew tell yeow haow I cum 
by thet boss, V by the other one tew. They ain’t 
mine, neither one on ’em.” 

Jos’s speech was as unintelligible to Felipe as it had 
been to Kamona. Jos saw it, and chuckled. 

“ Mebbe ’t would holp yer tew understand me ef I 
wuz tew talk Mexican,” he said, and proceeded to 
repeat in tolerably good Spanish the sum and sub- 
stance of what he had just said, adding : “ They 
belong to an Indian over on San J acinto ; at least, 
the off one does; the nigh one’s his wife’s; he 
would n’t ever call thet one anything but hers. It 
had been hers ever sence she was a girl, they said. 
I never saw people think so much of horses as they 
did.” 

Before Jos had finished speaking, Felipe had bound- 
ed into the wagon, throwing his horse’s reins to a 
boy in the crowd, and crying, “Follow along with 
my horse, will you ? I must speak to this man.” 

Found ! Found, — the saints be praised, — at last ! 
How should he tell this man fast enough ? How 
should he thank him enough ? 

Laying his hand on Jos’s knee, he cried : “ I can’t 
explain to you ; I can’t tell you. Bless you forever, 
— forever ! It must be the saints led you here ! ” 

“ Oh, Lawd ! ” thought Jos; “ another o’ them 4 saint ’ 


RAMONA. 


451 


fellers ! I allow not, Senor,” he said, relapsing into 
Tennesseean. “ It wur Tom Wurmsee led me ; I 
wuz gwine ter ''move his truck fur him this arter- 
noon.” 

“Take me home with you to your house,” said 
Felipe, still trembling with excitement; “we cannot 
talk here in the street. I want to hear all you can 
tell me about them. I have been searching for them 
all over California.” 

Jos’s face lighted up. This meant good fortune 
for that gentle, sweet Eamona, he was sure. “ I ’ll 
take you straight there,” he said ; “ but first I must 
stop at Tom’s. He will be waiting for me.” 

The crowd dispersed, disappointed ; cheated out of 
their anticipated scene of an arrest for horse-stealing. 
“ Good for you, Tennessee ! ” and, “ Fork over that 
black horse, Jos ! ” echoed from the departing groups. 
Sensations were not so common in San Bernardino 
that they could afford to slight so notable an occasion 
as this. 

As Jos turned the corner into the street where he 
lived, he saw his mother coming at a rapid run 
towards them, her sun-bonnet half off her head, her 
spectacles pushed up in her hair. 

“ Why, thar ’s mammy ! ” he exclaimed. “ What 
ever hez gone wrong naow ? ” 

Bef@re he finished speaking, she saw the black 
horses, and snatching her bonnet from her head 
waved it wildly, crying, “ Yeow Jos ! Jos, hyar ! 
Stop ! I wuz er cornin’ ter hunt yer I ” 

Breathlessly she continued talking, her words half 
lost in the sound of the wheels. Apparently she did 
not see the stranger sitting by Jos’s side. “ Oh, Jos, 
thar’s the terriblest news come! Thet Injun Ales- 
sandro ’s got killed ; murdered ; jest murdered, I say ; 
’t ain’t no less. Thar wuz an Injun come down 
from ther mounting with a letter to the Agent.” 


452 


RAMONA. 


“ Good God ! Alessandro killed ! ” burst from Felipe’s 
lips in a heart-rending voice. 

Jos looked bewilderedly from his mother to Felipe ; 
the complication was almost beyond him. “ Oh, 
Lawd ! ” he gasped. Turning to Felipe, “ The t ’s 
mammy,” he said. “ She wuz real fond o’ both on 
’em.” Turning to his mother, “ This hyar ’s her 
brother,” he said. “He jest knowed me by Baba, 
hyar on ther street. He’s been huntin’ ’em every- 
whar.” 

Aunt Bi grasped the situation instantly. Wiping 
her streaming eyes, she sobbed out : “ Wall, I ’ll allow, 
arter this, thar is sech a thing ez a Providence, ez they 
call it. ’Pears like ther could n’t ennythin’ less brung 
yer hyar jest naow. I know who yer be ; ye ’re her 
brother Feeleepy, ain’t yer ? Menny ’s ther time 
she ’s tolt me about yer ! Oh, Lawd ! How air we 
ever goin’ to git ter her ? I allow she ’s dead ! I 
allow she ’d never live arter seein’ him shot down 
dead ! He tolt me thar could n’t nobody git up thar 
whar they’d gone; no white folks, I mean. Oh, 
Lawd, Lawd!” 

Felipe stood paralyzed, horror-stricken. He turned 
in despair to Jos. “ Tell me in Spanish,” he said. 
“ I cannot understand.” 

As Jos gradually drew out the whole story from his 
mother’s excited and incoherent speech, and trans- 
lated it, Felipe groaned aloud, “ Too late ! Too late !” 
He too felt, as Aunt Pi had, that Pamona never 
could have survived the shock of seeing her hus- 
band murdered. “ Too late ! Too late ! ” he cried, as 
he staggered into the house. “ She has surely died 
of the sight.” 

“ I allow she did n’t die, nuther,” said Jos ; “ not ser 
long ez she lied thet young un to look arter ! ” 

“ Yer air right, Jos ! ” said Aunt Pi. “ I allow yer 
air right. Thar couldn’t nothin’ kill her, short er 


RAMONA. 


453 


wild beasts, ef she hed ther baby ’n her arms ! She 
ain’t dead, not ef the baby ez erlive, I allow. Thet ’s 
some comfort/’ 

Felipe sat with his face buried in his hands. 
Suddenly looking up, he said, “ How far is it ? ” 

“ Thirty miles ’n’ more inter the valley, where we 
wuz,” said Jos ; “V the Lawd knows how fur ’t is up 
on ter the mounting, where they wuz livin’. It ’s like 
goin’ up the wall uv a house, goin’ up San Jacinto 
Mountings daddy sez. He wuz thar huntin’ all sum- 
mer with Alessandro.” 

How strange, how incredible it seemed, to hear 
Alessandro’s name thus familiarly spoken, — spoken 
by persons who had known him so recently, and 
who were grieving, grieving as friends, to hear 
of his terrible death ! Felipe felt as if he were 
in a trance. Bousing himself, he ' said, “We must 
go. We must start at once. You will let me have 
the horses ? ” 

“ Wall, I allow yer ’ve got more right ter ’em ’n — ” 
began Jos, energetically, forgetting himself; then, 
dropping Tennesseean, he completed in Spanish his 
cordial assurances that the horses were at Felipe’s 
command. 


“ Jos ! He ’s got ter take me ! ” cried Aunt Bi. “ I 
allow I ain’t never gwine ter set still hyar, ’n’ thet 
girl inter sech trouble ; ’n’ if so be ez she is reely 
dead, thar ’s the baby. He hed n’t orter go alone 
by hisself.” 

Felipe was thankful, indeed, for Aunt Bi’s compan- 
ionship, and expressed himself in phrases so warm, 
that she was embarrassed. 

“ Yeow tell him, Jos,” she said, “ I can’t never git 
used ter bein’ called Senory. Yeow tell him his sister 
allers called me Aunt Bi, ’n’ I jest wish he would. I 
allow me ’n’ him ’ll git along all right. ’Pears like 


454 


RAMONA. 


arter the fust. I ’m free to confess I take more ter 
these Mexicans than I do ter these low-down, driven 
Yankees, ennyhow, — a heap more ; but I can’t stand 
bein’ Senory’d ! Yeow tell him, Jos. I s’pose thar ’s a 
word for ‘ aunt ’ in Mexican, ain’t there ? ’Pears like 
thar could n’t be no langwedge ’thout sech a word ! 
He ’ll know what it means ! I ’d go off with him 
a heap easier ef he ’d call me jest plain Aunt Pi, ez 
I ’m used ter, or Mis Hyer, either un on ’em ; but 
Aunt Pi ’s the nateralest.” 

Jos had some anxiety about his mother’s memory 
of the way to San Jacinto. She laughed. 

“ Don’t yeow be a mite oneasy,” she said. I bet 
yeow I ’d go clean back ter the States ther way we 
cum. I allow I ’ve got every mile on ’t ’n my hed 
plain’s a turnpike. Yeow nor-yer dad, neiry one on 
yer, could n’t begin to do ’t. But what we air gwine 
ter do, fur gittin’ up the mounting, thet’s another 
thing. Thet ’s more ’n I dew know. But thar ’ll 
be a way pervided, Jos, sure ’s yeow ’re bawn. 
The Lawd ain’t gwine to git hisself hindered er 
holpin’ Pamony this time ; I ain’t a mite afeerd.” 

Felipe could not have found a better ally. The 
comparative silence enforced between them by reason 
of lack of a common vehicle for their thoughts was on 
the whole less of a disadvantage than would have 
at first appeared. They understood each other well 
enough for practical purposes, and their unity in 
aim, and in affection for Pamona, made a bond so 
strong, it could not have been enhanced by words. 

It was past sundown when they left San Bernardino, 
but a full moon made the night as good as day for 
their journey. When it first shone out, Aunt Pi, 
pointing to it, said curtly, “ Thet ’s lucky.” 

“ Yes,” replied Felipe, who did not know either of 
the words she had spoken, “ it is good. It shows to 
us the way.” 


RAMONA. 455 

“ Thar, naow, say he can’t understand English ! ” 
thought Aunt Ei. 

Benito and Baba travelled as if they knew the 
errand on which they were hurrying. Good forty 
miles they had gone without flagging once, when 
Aunt Ei, pointing to a house on the right hand of the 
road, the only one they had seen for many miles, said : 
“ We ’ll liev to sleep hyar. I donno the road beyant 
this. I allow they ’re gone ter bed ; but they ’ll hev 
to git up ’n’ take us in. They ’re used ter doin’ it. 
They dew consid’able business keepin’ movers. I 
know ’em. They ’re reel friendly fur the kind o’ 
people they air. They ’re druv to death. It can’t be 
far frum their time to git up, ennyhow. They ’re up 
every mornin’ uv thar lives long afore daylight, a 
feedin’ their stock, an’ gittin’ ready fur the day’s 
work. I used ter hear ’em ’n’ see ’em, when we wuz 
campin’ here. The fust I saw uv it, I thought some- 
body wuz sick in the house, to git ’em up thet time o’ 
night ; but arterwards we found out ’t wan’t nothin’ 
but thar reggerlar way. When I told dad, sez I, 

‘ Dad, did ever yer hear sech a thing uz gittin’ up 
afore light to feed stock ? ’ ’n’ ter feed theirselves tew. 
They’d their own breakfast all dared away, ’n’ dishes 
washed, too, afore light; ’n’ prayers said beside ; they ’re 
Methodys, terrible pious. 1 used ter tell dad they 
talked a heap about believin’ in God ; I don’t allow 
but what they dew believe in God, tew, but they 
don’t worship Him so much ’s they worship work ; 
not nigh so much. Believin’ ’n’ worshippin’ ’s tew 
things. Yeow would n’t see no sech doin’s in Tennes- 
see. I allow the Lawd meant some time fur sleepin’ ; 
’n’ I ’m satisfied with his times o’ lightin’ up. But 
these Merrills air reel nice folks, fur all this I ’ve 
ben tellin’ yer! — Lawd! I don’t believe he’s un- 
derstood a word I ’ve said, naow ! ” thought Aunt Ei 
to herself, suddenly becoming aware of the hopeless 


456 


RAMONA. 


bewilderment on Felipe’s face. “ ’T ain’t mucli use 
say in’ anything more ’n plain yes ’n’ no, between folks 
thet can’t understand each other’s langwedge ; ’n’ s’ 
fur ’s thet goes, I allow thar ain’t any gret use ’n the 
biggest part o’ what ’s sed between folks thet doos ! ” 

When the Merrill family learned Felipe’s purpose of 
going up the mountain to the Cahuilla village, they 
attempted to dissuade him from taking his own horses. 
He would kill them both, high-spirited horses like 
those, they said, if he took them over that road. It 
was a cruel road. They pointed out to him the line 
where it wound, doubling and tacking on ihe sides of 
precipices, like a path for a goat or chamois. Aunt 
Bi shuddered at the sight, but said nothing. 

“I’m gwine whar he goes,” she said grimly to her- 
self. “ I ain’t a gwine ter back daown naow ; but I dew 
jest wish Jeff Hyer wuz along.” 

Felipe himself disliked what he saw and heard of 
the grade. The road had been built for bringing 
down lumber, and for six miles it was at perilous 
angles. After this it wound along on ridges and in 
ravines till it reached the heart of a great pine forest, 
where stood a saw-mill. Passing this, it plunged into 
still darker, denser woods, some fifteen miles farther 
on, and then came out among vast opens, meadows, 
and grassy foot-hills, still on the majestic mountain’s 
northern or eastern slopes. From these, another steep 
road, little more than a trail, led south, and up to the 
Cahuilla village. A day and a half’s hard journey, at 
the shortest, it was from Merrill’s ; and no one un- 
familiar with the country could find the last part of 
the way without a guide. Finally it was arranged 
that one of the younger Merrills should go in this 
capacity, and should also take two of his strong- 
est horses, accustomed to the road. By the help of 
these the terrible ascent was made without difficulty, 
though Baba at first snorted, plunged, and resented the 


RAMONA. 457 

humiliation of being harnessed with his head at 
another horse’s tail. 

Except for their sad errand, both Felipe and Aunt 
Ei would have experienced a keen delight in this as- 
cent. With each fresh lift on the precipitous terraces, 
the view off to the south and west broadened, until 
the whole San Jacinto Valley lay unrolled at their feet. 
The pines were grand ; standing, they seemed shapely 
columns ; fallen, the upper curve of their huge yel- 
low disks came above a man’s head, so massive was 
their size. On many of them the bark had been 
riddled from root to top, as by myriads of bullet- 
holes. In each hole had been cunningly stored away 
an acorn, — the woodpeckers’ granaries. 

“Look at thet, naow!” exclaimed the observant 
Aunt Ei ; “ an’ thar *s folk’s thet sez dumb critters ain’t 
got brains. They ain’t noways dumb to each other, 
I notice ; an’ we air dumb aourselves when we air 
ketched with furriners. I allow I’m next door to 
dumb myself with this hyar Mexican I ’m er travellin’ 
with.” 

“ That ’s so ! ” replied Sam Merrill. “ When we 
fust got here, I thought I ’d ha’ gone clean out o’ my 
head tryin’ to make these Mexicans sense my mean- 
in’ ; my tongue was plaguy little use to me. But 
now I can talk their lingo fust-rate ; but pa, he 
can’t talk to ’em nohow ; he hain’t learned the fust 
word ; ’n’ he ’s ben here goin’ on two years longer ’n 
we have.” 

The miles seemed leagues to Felipe. Aunt Ei’s 
drawling tones, as she chatted volubly with young 
Merrill, chafed him. How could she chatter ! But 
when he thought this, it would chance that in a few 
moments more he would see her clandestinely wiping 
away tears, and his heart would warm to her again. 

They slept at a miserable cabin in one of the clear- 
ings, and at early dawn pushed on, reaching the 


458 


RAMONA . 


Cahuilla village before noon. As their carriage came 
in sight, a great running to and fro of people was to 
be seen. Such an event as the arrival of a comforta- 
ble carriage drawn by four horses had never before 
taken place in the village. The agitation into which 
the people had been thrown by the murder of Ales- 
sandro had by no means subsided ; they were all on 
the alert, suspicious of each new occurrence. The 
news had only just reached the village that Farrar 
had been set at liberty, and would not be punished 
for his crime, and the flames of indignation and desire 
for vengeance, which the aged Capitan had so much 
difficulty in allaying in the outset, were bursting forth 
again this morning. It was therefore a crowd of hos- 
tile and lowering*faces which gathered around the car- 
riage as it stopped in front of the Capitan’s house. 

Aunt Ri’s face was a ludicrous study of mingled 
terror, defiance, and contempt. “ Uv all ther low- 
down, no-count, beggarly trash ever I laid eyes on,” 
she said in a low tone to Merrill, “ I allow these yere 
air the wust ! But I allow they ’d flatten us all aout 
in jest abaout a minnit, ef they wuz to set aout tew ! 
Ef she ain’t hyar, we air in a scrape, I allow.” 

“ Oh, they re friendly enough,” laughed Merrill. 

“ They ’re all stirred up, now, about the killin’ o’ that 
Injun ; that ’s what makes ’em look so fierce. I don’t 
wonder ! ’T was a derned mean thing Jim Farrar did, 
a firin’ into the man after he was dead. I don’t 
blame him for killin’ the cuss, not a bit ; I ’d have 
shot any man livin’ that ’ad taken a good horse o’ 
mine up that trail. That ’s the only law we stock 
men ’ve got out in this country. We ’ve got to pro- 
tect ourselves. But it was a mean, low-lived trick to 
blow the feller’s face to pieces after he was dead ; but 
Jim ’s a rough feller, ’n’ I expect he was so mad, 
when he see his horse, that he didn’t know what he 
did.” 


RAMONA. 


459 


Aunt Ri was half paralyzed with astonishment at 
this speech. Felipe had leaped out of the carriage, 
and after a few words with the old Capitan, had hur- 
ried with him into his house. Felipe had evidently 
forgotten that she was still in the carriage. His 
going into the house looked as if Ramona were there. 
Aunt Ri, in all her indignation and astonishment, 
was conscious of this train of thought running through 
her mind ; but not even the near prospect of seeing 
Ramona could bridle her tongue now, or make her 
defer replying to the extraordinary statements she * 
had just heard. The words seemed to choke her as 
she began. “ Young man,” she said, “ I donno much 
abaout yeour raisin’. I ’ve heered yeour folks wuz 
great on religion. Naow, we ain’t, Jeff ’n’ me; we 
war n’t raised thet way ; but I allow ef I wuz ter 
hear my boy, Jos, — he ’s jest abaout yeour age, ’n’ 
make tew, though he ’s narrerer chested, — ef I 
should hear him say what yeou ’ve jest said, I allow 
I sh’d expect to see him struck by lightnin’ ; ’n’ I 
sh’d n’t think he hed got more ’n his deserts, I allow 
I sh’d n’t!” 

What more Aunt Ri would have said to the as- 
tounded Merrill was never known, for at that instant 
the old Capitan, returning to the door, beckoned to 
her ; and springing from her seat to the ground, sternly 
rejecting Sam’s offered hand, she hastily entered the 
house. As she crossed the threshold, Felipe turned 
an anguished face towards her, and said, “ Come, 
speak to her.” He was on his knees by a wretched pal- 
let on the floor. Was that Ramona, — that prostrate 
form; hair dishevelled, eyes glittering, cheeks scar- 
let, hands playing meaninglessly, like the hands of 
one crazed, with a rosary of gold beads ?. Yes, it was 
Ramona ; and it was like this she had lam there now 
ten days ; and the people had exhausted all their 
simple skill for her in vain. 


460 


RAMONA. 


Aunt Ei burst into tears. “ Oh, Lawd ! ” she said. 
“ Ef I had some ‘ old man ’ hyar, I ’d bring her aout er 
thet fever ! I dew bleeve I seed some on ’t growin’ 
not more ’n er mile back.” And without a second look, 
or another word, she ran out of the door, and spring- 
ing into the carriage, said, speaking faster than she 
had been heard to speak for thirty years : “ Yeow jest 
turn raound ’n’ drive me back a piece, the way we 
come. I allow I ’ll git a weed thet ’ll break thet 
fever. Faster, faster ! Eun yer hosses. ’T ain’t above 
• er mile back, whar I seed it,” she cried, leaning out, 
eagerly scrutinizing each inch of the barren ground. 
“ Stop ! Here ’t is ! ” she cried. “ I knowed I smelt 
the bitter on ’t somewhars along hyar ; ” and in a few 
minutes more she had a mass of the soft, shining, 
gray, feathery leaves in her hands, and was urging the 
horses fiercely on their way back. “ This ’ll cure 
her, ef ennytliing will,” she said, as she entered the 
room again ; but her heart sank as she saw Eamo- 
na’s eyes rovdng restlessly over Felipe’s face, no sign 
of recognition in them. “ She ’s bad ; ” she said, her 
lips trembling ; “ but, ‘ Never say die ! ’ ez allers 
our motto ; ’t ain’t never tew late fur ennything but 
oncet, ’n’ yer can’t tell when thet time ’s come till 
it ’s past ’n’ gone.” 

Steaming bowls of the bitterly odorous infusion she 
held at Eamona’s nostrils ; with infinite patience she 
forced drop after drop of it between the unconscious 
lips ; she bathed the hands and head, her own hands 
blistered by the heat. It was a fight with death ; 
but love and life won. Before night Eamona was 
asleep. 

Felipe and Aunt Ei sat by her, strange but not un- 
congenial watchers, each taking heart from the other’s 
devotion. All night long Eamona slept. As Felipe 
watched her, he remembered his own fever, and how 
she had knelt by his bed and prayed there. He 


RAMONA. 


461 


glanced around the room. In a niche in the mud wall 
was a cheap print of the Madonna, one candle just 
smouldering out before it. The village people had 
drawn heavily on their poverty-stricken stores, keep- 
ing candles burning for Alessandro and Ramona dur- 
ing the past ten days. The rosary had slipped from 
Ramona’s hold ; taking it cautiously in his hand, 
Felipe went to the Madonna’s picture, and falling on 
his knees, began to pray as simply as if he were alone. 
The Indians, standing on the doorway, also fell on 
their knees, and a low-whispered murmur was heard. 

For a moment Aunt Ri looked at the kneeling 
figures with contempt. “ Oh, Lawd I ” she thought, 
“ the pore heathen, prayin’ ter a picter ! ” Then a 
sudden revulsion seized her. “ I allow I ain’t gwine 
ter be the unly one out er the hull number thet don’t 
seem to hev nothin’ ter pray ter ; I allow I ’ll jine in 
prayer, tew, but I shan’t say mine ter no picter ! ” And 
Aunt Ri fell on her knees ; . and when a young Indian 
woman by her side slipped a rosary into her hand, 
Aunt Ri did not repulse it, but hid it in the folds of 
her gown till the prayers were done. It was a moment 
and a lesson Aunt Ri never forgot. 


XXYI. 


HE Capitan’s house faced the east. Just as 



_L day broke, and the light streamed in at the 
open door, Ramona’s eyes unclosed. Felipe and 
Aunt Ri were both by her side. With a look of 
bewildered terror, she gazed at them. 

“ Thar, thar, naow ! Yer jest shet yer eyes ’n’ go 
right off ter sleep agin, honey,” said Aunt Ri, com- 
posedly, laying her hand on Ramona’s eyelids, and 
compelling them down. “We air hyar, Feeleepy hT 
me, ’n’ we air goin’ ter stay. I allow yer need n’t be 
afeerd o’ nothin’. Go ter sleep, honey.” 

The eyelids quivered beneath Aunt Ri’s fingers. 
Tears forced their way, and rolled slowly down the 
cheeks. The lips trembled ; the voice strove to speak, 
but it was only like the ghost of a whisper, the faint 
question that came, — “ Felipe ? ” 

“Yes, dear! I am here, too,” breathed Felipe; “go 
to sleep. We will not leave you ! ” 

And again Ramona sank away into the merciful 
sleep which was saving her life. 

“ Ther longer she kin sleep, ther better,” said Aunt 
Ri, with a sigh, deep-drawn like a groan. “ I allow I 
dread ter see her reely come to. ’T ’ll be wus ’n the 
fust ; she ’ll hev ter live it all over agin ! ” 

But Aunt Ri did not know what forces of fortitude 
had been gathering in Ramona’s soul during these last 
bitter years. Out of her gentle constancy had been 
woven the heroic fibre of which martyrs are made ; 
this, and her inextinguishable faith, had made her 
strong, as were those of old, who “ had trial of cruel 
mocking, wandered about, being destitute, afflicted, 


RAMONA. 


463 


tormented, wandered in deserts and in mountains, 
and in dens and caves of the earth.” 

When she waked the second time, it was with a 
calm, almost beatific smile that she gazed on Felipe, 
and whispered, “ How did you find me, dear Felipe ? ” 
It was rather by the motions of her lips than by any 
sound that he knew the words. She had not yet 
strength enough to make an audible sound. When 
they laid her baby on her breast, she smiled again, 
and tried to embrace her, but was too weak. Point- 
ing to the baby’s eyes, she whispered, gazing earnestly 
at Felipe, “Alessandro.” A convulsion passed over 
her face as she spoke the word, and the tears flowed. 

Felipe could not speak. He glanced helplessly at 
Aunt Ri, who promptly responded: “Naow, honey, 
don’t yeow talk. ’T ain’t good fur ye ; ’n’ Feeleepy 
’n’ me, we air in a powerful hurry ter git yer strong 
’n’ well, ’n’ tote ye out er this — ” Aunt Ri stopped. 
No substantive in her vocabulary answered her need 
at that moment. “I allow ye kin go ’n a week, 
ef nothin’ don’t go agin ye more ’n I see naow ; but 
ef yer git ter talkin’, thar ’s no tellin’ when yer ’ll git 
up. Yeow jest shet up, honey. We ’ll look arter 
everythin’.” 

Feebly Ramona turned her grateful, inquiring eyes 
on Felipe. Her lips framed the words, “ With you ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, home with me,” said Felipe, clasping 
her hand in his. “I have been searching for you all 
this time.” 

An anxious look came into the sweet face. Felipe 
knew what it meant. How often he had seen it in 
the olden time. He feared to shock her by the 
sudden mention of the Seiiora’s death ; yet that would 
harm her less than continued anxiety. “ I am alone, 
dear Ramona,” he whispered. “ There is no one now 
but you, my sister, to take care of me. My mother 
has been dead a year.” 


464 


RAMONA. 


The eyes dilated, then filled with sympathetic tears. 
“ Dear Felipe ! ” she sighed ; but her heart took courage. 
Felipe’s phrase was like one inspired ; another duty, 
another work, another loyalty, waiting for Ramona. 
Not only her child to live for, but to “ take care of 
Felipe” ! Ramona would not die ! Youth, a mother’s 
love, a sister’s affection and duty, on the side of life, — 
the battle was won, and won quickly, too. 

To the simple Cahuillas it seemed like a miracle ; 
and they looked on Aunt Ri’s weather-beaten face 
with something akin to a superstitious reverence. 
They themselves were not ignorant of the value 
of the herb by means of which she had wrought 
the marvellous cure ; but they had made repeated 
experiments with it upon Ramona, without suc- 
cess. It must be that there had been some potent 
spell in Aunt Ri’s handling. They would hardly 
believe her - when, in answer to their persistent 
questioning, she reiterated the assertion that she 
had used nothing except the hot water and “old 
man,” which was her name for the wild wormwood ; 
and which, when explained to them, impressed them 
greatly, as having no doubt some significance in con- 
nection with the results of her. preparation of the 
leaves. 

Rumors about Felipe ran swiftly throughout the 
region. The presence in the Cahuilla village of a 
rich Mexican gentleman who spent gold like water, 
and kept mounted men riding day and night, after 
everything, anything, he wanted for his sick sister, 
was an event which in the atmosphere of that 
lonely country loomed into colossal proportions. 
He had travelled all over California, with four 
horses, in search of her. He was only waiting till 
she was well, to take her to his home in the south ; 
and then he was going to arrest the man who had 
murdered her husband, and have him hanged, — 


RAMONA. 


465 


yes, hanged ! Small doubt about that ; or, if the law 
cleared him, there was still the bullet. This rich 
Senor would see him shot, if rope were not to be had. 
Jim Farrar heard these tales, and quaked in his 
guilty soul. The rope he had small fear of, for well 
he knew the temper of San Diego County juries 
and judges; but the bullet, that was another thing : 
and these Mexicans were like Indians in their ven- 
geance. Time did not tire them, and their memories 
were long. Farrar cursed the day he had let his 
temper get the better of him on that lonely mountain- 
side ; how much the better, nobody but he himself 
knew, — nobody but he and Ramona : and even 
Ramona did not know the bitter whole. She knew 
that Alessandro had no knife, and had gone for- 
ward with no hostile intent ; but she knew nothing 
beyond that. Only the murderer himself knew that 
the dialogue which he had reported to the judge and 
jury, to justify his act, was an entire fabrication of 
his own, and that, instead of it, had been spoken but 
four words by Alessandro, and those w T ere, “ Senor, I 
will explain ; ” and that even after the first shot had 
pierced his lungs, and the blood was choking in his 
throat, he had still run a step or two farther, with 
his hand uplifted deprecatingly, and made one more 
effort to speak before he fell to the ground dead. 
Callous as Farrar was, and clear as it was in his 
mind that killing an Indian was no harm, he had not 
liked to recall the pleading anguish in Alessandro’s 
tone and in his face as he fell. He had not liked to 
recall this, even before he heard of this rich Mexican 
brother-in-law who had appeared on the scene; and 
now, he found the memories still more unpleasant. 
Fear is a wonderful goad to remorse. There was 
another thing, too, which to his great wonder had 
been apparently overlooked by everybody; at least, 
nothing had been said about it ; but the bearing of 
30 


466 


RAMONA. 


it on his case, if the case were brought up a second 
time and minutely investigated, would be most un- 
fortunate. And this was, that the only clew he had 
to the fact of Alessandro’s having taken his horse, was 
that the poor, half-crazed fellow had left his own well- 
known gray pony in the corral in place of the horse 
he took. A strange thing, surely, for a horse-thief 
to do ! Cold sweat burst out on Farrar’s forehead, 
more than once, as he realized how this, coupled 
with the well-known fact of Alessandro’s liability to 
attacks of insanity, might be made to tell against 
him, if he should be brought to trial for the murder. 
He was as cowardly as he was cruel : never yet were 
the two traits separate in human nature ; and after 
a few days of this torturing suspense and apprehen- 
sion, he suddenly resolved to leave the country, if not 
forever, at least for a few years, till this brother-in- 
law should be out of the way. He lost no time in 
carrying out his resolution; and it was well he did 
not, for it was only three days after he had disap- 
peared, that Felipe walked into Judge Wells’s office, 
one morning, to make inquiries relative to the pre- 
liminary hearing which had been held there in the 
matter of the murder of the Indian, Alessandro Assis, 
by James Farrar. And when the judge, taking down 
his books, read to Felipe his notes of the case, and 
went on to say, “ If Farrar’s testimony is true, Ra- 
mona’s, the wife’s, must be false,” and “at any rate, her 
testimony would not be worth a straw with any jury,” 
Felipe sprang to his feet, and cried, “ She of whom 
you speak is my foster-sister; and, by God, Senor, if I 
can find that man, I will shoot him as I would a dog ! 
And I ’ll see, then, if a San Diego County jury will 
hang me for ridding the country of such a brute ! ” 
and lelipe would have been as good as his word. 
It was a wise thing Farrar had done in making his 
escape. 


RAMONA . 


467 


When Aunt Ri heard that Farrar had fled the 
country, she pushed up her spectacles and looked 
reflectively at her informant. It was young Merrill. 
“ Fled ther country, hez he ? ” she said. “ Wall, he 
kin flee ez many countries ez he likes, an’ ’t won’t dew 
him no good. I know yeow folks hyar don’t seem 
ter think killin’ an Iujun’s enny murder, but I say 
’t is ; an’ yeow ’ll all git it brung home ter yer afore 
yer die : ef ’t ain’t brung one way, ’t ’ll be anuther ; 
yeow jest mind what I say, ’n’ don’t yeow furgit it. 
Naow this miser’ble murderer, this Farrar, thet’s light- 
ed out er hyar, he ’s nothin’ more ’n. a skunk, but he ’s 
got the Lawd arter him, naow. It ’s jest ’s well he ’s 
gawn ; I never did b’leeve in hangin’. I never could. 
It ’s jest tew men dead ’stead o’ one. I don’t want 
to see no man hung, no marter what he ’s done, ’n’ I 
don’t want to see no man shot down, nuther, no 
marter what he ’s done ; ’n’ this hyar Feeleepy, he ’s 
thet high-strung, he ’d ha’ shot thet Farrar, any min- 
nit, quicker ’n lightnin’, ef he ’d ketched him ; so it ’s 
better all raound he ’s lit aout. But I tell yeow, 
naow, he hain’t made much by goin’ ! Thet Injun 
he murdered ’ll foller him night ’n’ day, till he dies, 
’n’ long arter ; he ’ll wish he wuz dead afore he doos 
die, I allow he will, naow. He ’ll be jest like a 
man I knowed back in Tennessee. I wa’n’t but a 
mite then, but I never forgot it. ’T ’s a great coun- 
try fur gourds. East Tennessee is, whar I wuz raised ; 
’n’ thar wuz two houses, ’n’ a fence between ’em, ’n’ 
these gourds a runnin’ all over the fence ; ’n’ one o’ 
ther childun picked one o’ them gourds, an’ they fit 
abaout it; ’n’ then the women took it up, — ther 
childun’s mothers, yer know, — ’n’ they got fightin’ 
abaout it; ’n’ then ’t the last the men took it up, ’n’ 
they fit ; ’n’ Rowell he got his butcher-knife, ’n’ *he 
ground it up, ’n’ he picked a querril with Claiborne, 
’n’ he cut him inter pieces. They hed him up for ’t, 


m 


RAMONA. 


'n’ somehow they dared him. I don’t see how they 
ever did, but they put ’t off, ’n’ put ’t off, ’n’ ’t last 
they got him free ; ’n’ he lived on thar a spell, but he 
could n’t stan’ it ; ’peared like he never hed no peace ; 
’n’ he come over ter our ’us, ’n’ sed he, ‘ Jake/ — they 
allers called daddy * Jake,’ or ‘ Uncle Jake,’ — ‘Jake/ 
sed he, ‘ I can’t stan’ it, livin’’ hyar.’ ‘ Why,’ sez 
daddy, ‘ the law o’ the country ’s clar’d ye.’ ‘ Yes/ 
sez he, ‘ but the law o’ God hain’t ; ’n’ I ’ve got 
Claiborne allers with me. Thar ain’t any path so 
narrer, but he ’s a walkin’ in it, by my side, all 
day ; ’n’ come night, I sleep with him ter one side, 
’n’ my wife t’ other ; ’n’ I can’t stan’ it ! ’ Them ’s 
ther very words I heered him say, ’n’ I wuz n’t 
ennythin’ but a mite, but I did n’t furgit it. Wall, 
sir, he went West, way aout hyar to Californy, ’n’ 
he could n’t stay thar nuther, ’n’ he come back 
hum agin ; ’n’ I wuz bigger then, a gal grown, ’n’ 
daddy sez to him, — I heern him, — ‘ Wal/ sez he, 
‘ did ■ Claiborne foller yer ? ’ ‘ Yes/ sez he, ‘ he fol- 

lered me. I ’ll never git shet o’ him in this world. 
He ’s allers dost to me everywhar.’ Yer see, ’t was 
jest his conscience er whippin’ him. Thet’s all ’t 
wuz. ’T least, thet ’s all I think ’t wuz ; though 
thar wuz those thet said ’t * wuz Claiborne’s ghost. 
’N’ thet ’ll be the way ’t ’ll be with this miser’ble 
Farrar. He ’ll live ter wish he ’d let hisself be 
hanged er shot, er erry which way, ter git out er 
his misery.” 

Young Merrill listened with unwonted gravity to 
Aunt Ri’s earnest words. They reached a depth in 
his nature which had been long untouched ; a stratum, 
so to speak, which lay far beneath the surface. The 
character of the Western frontiersman is often a sin- 
gular accumulation of such strata, — the training and 
beliefs of his earliest days overlain by successions 
of unrelated and violent experiences, like geological 


RAMONA. 


469 


deposits. Underneath the exterior crust of the most 
hardened and ruffianly nature often remains — its 
forms not yet quite fossilized — a realm full of 
the devout customs, doctrines, religious influences, 
which the boy knew, and the man remembers. By 
sudden upheaval, in some great catastrophe or strug- 
gle in his mature life, these all come again into 
the light. Assembly Catechism definitions, which 
he learned in his childhood, and has not thought 
of since, ring in his ears, and he is thrown into all 
manner of confusions and inconsistencies of feeling 
and speech by this clashing of the old and new 
man within him. It was much in this way that 
Aunt Hi’s words smote upon young Merrill. He . was 
not many years removed from the sound of a preach- 
ing of the straitest New England Calvinism. The 
wild frontier life had drawn him in and under, as in a 
whirlpool ; but he was New Englander yet at heart. 

“ That’s so, Aunt Hi!” he exclaimed. “That’s 
so! I don’t s’pose a man that’s committed mur- 
der ’ll ever have any peace in this world, nor in the 
next nuther, without he repents ; but ye see this 
horse-stealin’ business is different. ’T ain’t murder 
to kill a hoss-thief, any way you can fix it ; every- 
body admits that. A feller that ’s caught horse- 
stealin’ had ought to be shot; and he will be, too, 
I tell you, in this country!” 

A look of impatient despair spread over Aunt Bi’s 
face. “ I hain’t no patience left with yer,” she said, 
“ er talkin’ abaout stealin’ hosses ez ef hosses wuz more 
’n human bein’s ! But lettin tliet all go, this Injun, he 
wuz crazy. Yer all knowed it. Thet Earrar knowed 
it. D’ yer think ef he ’d ben stealin’ the hoss, he ’d 
er left his own hoss in the corral, same ez, yer might 
say, leavin’ his kyerd to say ’t wuz he done it; ’n’ 
the hoss er tied in plain sight ’n front uv his house 
fur ennybody ter see?” 


470 


RAMONA. 


“ Left his own horse, so he did ! ” retorted Merrill. 
“A poor, miserable, knock-kneed old pony, that 
wa’n’t worth twenty dollars; ’n’ Jim’s horse was 
worth two hundred, ’n’ cheap at that.” 

“Thet ain’t nuther here nor thar in what we air 
sayin’,” persisted Aunt Ri. “ I ain’t a speakin’ on ’t 
ez a swap er hosses. What I say is, he w r a’n’t toyin' 
to cover ’t up tliet he ’d tuk the boss. We air sum 
used ter hoss-thieves in Tennessee ; but I never heered 
o’ one yit thet left his name fur a refference berhind 
him, ter show which road he tuk, ’n’ fastened ther 
stolen critter ter his front gate when he got hum ! I 
allow me ’n’ yeow hed n’t better say anythin’ much 
more on ther subjeck, fur I allow we air bound to 
querril ef we dew ; ” and nothing that Merrill said 
could draw another word out of Aunt Ri in regard to 
Alessandro’s death. But there was another subject on 
which she was tireless, and her speech eloquent. It 
was the kindness and goodness of the Cahuilla people. 
The last vestige of her prejudice against Indians had 
melted and gone, in the presence of their simple-hearted 
friendliness. “ I ’ll never hear a word said agin ’em, 
never, ter my longest day,” she said. “The way 
the pore things hed jest stripped theirselves, to git 
things fur Ramony, beat all ever I see among white 
folks, ’n’ I ’ve ben raound more ’n most. ’N’ they 
wa’n’t lookin’ fur no pay, nuther ; fur they did n’t 
know, till Feeleepy ’n’ me cum, thet she hed any 
folks ennywhar, ’n’ they’d ha’ taken care on her 
till she died, jest the same. The sick allers ez. took 
care on among them, they sed, ’s long uz enny on 
’em hez got a thing left. Thet ’s ther way they air 
raised ; I allow white folks might take a lesson on 
’em, in thet ; ’n’ in heaps uv other things tew. Oh, 
I’m done talkin’ agin Injuns, naow, don’t yeow fur- 
git it ! But I know', fur all thet, ’t won’t make any 
difference; ’pears like there cuddn’t nobody b’leeve 


RAMONA, 


471 


ennythin’ ’n this world ’thout seem’ ’t theirselves. 
I wuz thet way tew ; I allow I hain ’t got no cali 
ter talk ; but I jest wish the hull world could see 
what I ’ve seen ! Thet ’s all ! ” 

It was a sad day in the village when Eamona and 
her friends departed. Heartily as the kindly peo- 
ple rejoiced in her having found such a protector 
for herself and her child, and deeply as they felt 
Felipe s and Aunt Ei s good-will and gratitude to- 
wards them, they were yet conscious of a loss, — of 
a void. The gulf between them and the rest of the 
world seemed defined anew, their sense of isola- 
tion deepened, their hopeless poverty emphasized. 
Eamona, wife of Alessandro, had been as their sister, 
— one of them ; as such, she would have had share 
in all their life had to offer. But its utmost was 
nothing, was but hardship and deprivation ; and 
she was being borne away from it, like one rescued, 
not so much from death, as from a life worse than 
death. 

The tears streamed down Eamona’s face as she 
bade them farewell. She embraced again and again 
the young mother who had for so many days suckled 
her child, even, it was said, depriving her own hard- 
ier babe that Eamona’s should not suffer. “Sis- 
ter, you have given me my child,” she cried; “I 
can never thank you; I will pray for you all my 
life.” 

She made no inquiries as to Felipe’s plans. Un- 
questioningly, like a little child, she resigned her- 
self into his hands. A power greater than hers was 
ordering her way; Felipe was its instrument. Ho 
other voice spoke to guide her. The same old sim- 
plicity of acceptance which had characterized her 
daily, life in her girlhood, and kept her serene and 
sunny then, — serene under trials, sunny in her routine 
of little duties, — had kept her serene through all the 


472 


RAMONA. 


afflictions, and calm, if not sunny, under all the 
burdens of her later life ; and it did not desert her 
even now. 

Aunt Ri gazed at her with a sentiment as near to 
veneration as her dry, humorous, practical nature was 
capable of feeling. “I allow 1 donno but I sh’d 
cum ter believin’ in saints tew,” she said, “ ef I wuz 
ter live ’long side er thet gal. ’Pears like she wuz 
suthin’ more ’n human. ’T beats me plum out, ther 
way she takes her troubles. Thar ’s sum would say 
she hed n’t no feelin’ ; but I allow she hez more ’n 
most folks. I kin see, ’t ain’t thet. I allow I did n’t 
never expect ter think ’s well uv prayin’ to picters, 
’n’ strings er beads, ’n’ sech ; but ef t ’s thet keeps her 
up ther way she ’s kept up, I allow thar ’s more in 
it ’n it ’s hed credit fur. I ain’t gwine ter say enny 
more agin it, nor agin Injuns. ’Pears like I ’m gittin’ 
heaps er new idears inter my head, these days. I ’ll 
turn Injun, mebbe, afore I git through!” 

The farewell to Aunt Ri was hardest of all. Ra- 
mona clung to her as to a mother. At times she felt 
that she would rather stay by her side than go home 
with Felipe ; then she reproached herself for the 
thought, as for a treason and ingratitude. Felipe 
saw the feeling, and did not wonder at it. “ Dear 
girl,” he thought ; “ it is the nearest she has ever come 
to knowing what a mother’s love is like !” And he 
lingered in San Bernardino week after week, on the 
pretence that Ramona was not yet strong enough to 
bear the journey home, when in reality his sole motive 
for staying was his reluctance to deprive her of Aunt 
Ri’s wholesome and cheering companionship. 

Aunt Ri was busily at work on a rag carpet for the 
Indian Agent’s wife. She had j ust begun it, had woven 
only a few inches, on that dreadful morning when the 
news of Alessandro’s death reached her. It was of 
her favorite pattern, the “ hit-er-miss ” pattern, as she 


RAMONA. 


473 


called it : no set stripes or regular alternation of 
colors, but ball after ball of the indiscriminately 
mixed tints, woven back and forth, on a warp of a 
single color. The constant variety in it, the unex- 
pectedly harmonious blending of the colors, gave her 
delight, and afforded her a subject, too, of not un- 
philosophical reflection. 

“ Wall,” she said, “ it ’s called ther ‘ hit-er-miss ’ pat- 
tren ; but it ’s ‘ hit ’ oftener ’n ’t is ‘ miss.’ Thar ain't 
enny accountin’ fur ther way ther breadths ’ll come, 
sometimes ; ’pears like ’t wuz kind er magic, when 
they air sewed tergether ; ’n’ I allow thet ’s ther way 
it ’s gwine ter be with heaps er things in this life. 
It ’s jest a kind er ‘ hit-er-miss’ pattren we air all on 
us livin’ on ; ’t ain’t much use tryin’ ter reckon how ’t 
’ll come aout ; but the breadths doos fit heaps better 
’n yer ’d. think ; come ter sew ’em, ’t aint never no sech 
colors ez yer thought ’t wuz gwine ter be, but it ’s 
allers pooty, allers; never see a ‘ hit-er-miss ’ pattren ’n 
my life yit, thet wa’n’t pooty. ’N’ ther wa’n’t never 
nobody fetched me rags, ’n’ hed ’em all planned 
aout, ’n’ jest ther way they wanted ther warp, ’n’ 
jest haow ther stripes wuz ter come, ’n’ all, thet they 
wa’n’t orful diserpynted when they cum ter see ’t 
done. It don’t never look ’s they thought ’t would, 
never ! I larned thet lesson airly ; ’n’ I allers make 
’em write ’t aout on a paper, jest ther wedth er every 
stripe, ’n’ each er ther colors, so ’s they kin see it ’s 
what they ordered ; ’r else they ’d allers say I hed n’t 
wove ’t ’s I wuz told ter. I got ketched thet way 
oncet ! I allow ennybody ’s a bawn fool gits ketched 
twice runnin’ ther same way. But fur me, I ’ll take 
ther ‘hit-er-miss’ pattren, every time, sir, straight 
along.” 

When the carpet was done, Aunt Ri took the roll 
in her own independent arms, and strode with it to 
the Agent’s house. She had been biding the time 


474 


RAMONA. 


when she should have this excuse for going there. 
Her mind was burdened with questions she wished 
to ask, information she wished to give, and she chose 
an hour when she knew she would find the Agent 
himself at home. 

“ I allow yer heered why I wuz behind time with 
this yere carpet,” she said; “I wuz up ter San 
Jacinto Mounting, where thet Injun wuz murdered. 
We brung his widder ’n’ ther baby daown with us, 
me ’n’ her brother. He ’s tuk her home ter his 
house ter live. He ’s reel well off.” 

Yes, the Agent had heard this ; he had wondered 
why the widow did not come to see him ; he had 
expected to hear from her. 

“ Wall, I did hent ter her thet p’raps yer could 
dew something, ef she wuz ter tell yer all abaout 
it ; but she allowed tliar wa’n’t enny use in talkin’. 
Ther jedge, he sed her witnessin’ would n’t be wuth 
nuthin’ to no jury ; ’n’ thet wuz what I wuz a want- 
in’ to ask yeow, ef thet wuz so.” 

“ Yes, that is what the lawyers liere told me,” said 
the Agent. “I was going to have the man arrested, 
but they said it would be folly to bring the case 
to trial. The woman’s testimony would not be 
believed.” 

“ Yeow ’ve got power ter git a man punished fur 
sellin’ whiskey to Injuns, I notice,” broke in Aunt Ri ; 
“ hain’t yer ? I see yeour man ’n’ the marshal here 
arrestin’ ’em pooty lively last month ; they sed ’t w r as 
yeour doin’ ; yeow was a gwine ter prossacute every 
livin’ son o’ hell — them wuz thar words — thet sold 
whiskey ter Injuns.” 

“ That ’s so ! ” said the Agent. “ So I am ; I am 
determined to break up this vile business of selling 
whiskey to Indians. It is no use trying to do any- 
thing for them while they are made drunk in this 
way ; it ’s a sin and a shame.” 


RAMONA. 


475 

. “ Thet *s so, I allow ter yeow,” said Aunt Ei. « Thar 
ain’t any gainsayin’ thet. But ef yeow ’ve got power 
ter git a man put in jail fur sellin’ whiskey t’ ’n 
Injun, !n’ hain’t got power to git him punished ef 
he goes ’n’ kills thet Injun, ’t sems ter me thar ’s 
suthin’ cur’us abaout thet.” 

“That is just the trouble in my position here. 
Aunt Ri,” he said. “ I have no real power over my 
Indians, as I ought to have.” 

“What makes yer call ’em yeour Injuns?” broke 
in Aunt Ei. 

The Agent colored. Aunt Ei was a privileged 
character, but her logical method of questioning was 
inconvenient. 

“ I only mean that they are under my charge,” he 
said. “I don’t mean that they belong to me in any 
way.” 

“ Wall, I allow not,” retorted Aunt Ri, “ enny more 
’n I dew. They air aimin’ their livin’, sech’s ’t is, ef 
yer kin call it a livin’. I ’ve ben ’mongst ’em, naow, 
this hyar last tew weeks, ’n’ I allow I ’ve lied my 
eyes opened ter some things. What ’s thet docter 
er yourn, him thet they call the Agency docter, — 
what ’s he got ter do ? ” 

“ To attend to the Indians of this Agency when 
they are sick,” replied the Agent, promptly. 

“ Wall, thet ’s what I lieern ; thet ’s what yeow sed 
afore, ’n’ thet ’s why Alessandro, the Injun thet wuz 
murdered, — thet ’s why he put his name down ’n 
yeour books, though ’t went agin him orful ter do it. 
He wuz high-spereted, ’n’ ’d allers took keer er hisself ; 
but he ’d ben druv out er fust one place ’n’ then 
another, tell he ’d got clar down, ’n’ pore ; ’n’ he jest 
begged thet docter er yourn to go to see his little gal, 
’n’ the docter would n’t ; ’n’ more ’n thet, he laughed 
at him fur askin’. ’N’ they set the little thing on the 
hoss ter bring her here, ’n’ she died afore they ’d come 


476 


RAMONA. 


a mile with her ; V ’t wuz thet, on top er all the rest, 
druv Alessandro crazy. He never hed none er them 
wandrin’ spells till arter thet. Naow I allow thet 
wa’n’t right er thet docter. I would n’t hev no sech 
docter ’s thet raound my Agency, ef I wuz yeow. 
Pr’aps yer never heered uv thet. I told Ramony 
I did n’t bleeve yer knowed it, or ye ’d hev made 
him go.” 

“ No, Aunt Ri,” said the Agent ; “ I could not have 
done that ; he is only required to doctor such Indians 
as come here.” 

“ I allow, then, thar ain’t any gret use en hevin’ 
him at all,” said Aunt Ri; “ ’pears like thar ain’t 
more ’n a liarndful uv Injuns raound here. I expect 
he gits well paid ? ” and she paused for an answer. 
None came. The Agent did not feel himself obliged 
to reveal to Aunt Ri what salary the Government 
paid the San Bernardino doctor for sending hap- 
hazard prescriptions to Indians he never saw. 

After a pause Aunt Ri resumed : “ Ef it ain’t enny 
offence ter yeow, I allow I ’d like ter know jest what 
’t is yeow air here ter dew fur these Injuns. I ’ve got 
my feelin’s considdable stirred up, bein’ among ’em, 
’n’ knowing this hyar one, thet ’s ben murdered. 
Hev ye got enny power to giv’ ’em enny thing, — food, 
or sech ? They air powerful pore, most on ’em.” 

“ I have had a little fund for buying supplies for 
them in times of special suffering ; ” replied the 
Agent, “ a very little ; and the Department has ap- 
propriated some money for wagons and ploughs ; not 
enough, however, to supply every village; you see 
these Indians are in the main self-supporting.” 

“ Thet ’s jest it,” persisted Aunt Ri. “ Thet ’s what 
I ’ve ben seein’ ; ’n’ thet ’s why I want so bad ter git 
at what ’t is the Guvvermunt means ter hev yeow 
dew fur ’em. I allow ef yeow ain’t ter feed ’em, an’ 
ef yer can’t put folks inter jail fur robbin’ ’n’ cheatin’ 


RAMONA. 


477 


’em, not ter say killin’ em, — ef yer can’t dew ennythin’ 
more ’n keep ’em from gettin’ whiskey, wall, I ’m 
free ter say — ” Aunt Ri paused ; she did not wish 
to seem to reflect on the Agent’s usefulness, and so 
concluded her sentence very differently from her 
first impulse, — “ I ’m free ter say I should n’t like 
ter stan’ in yer shoes.” 

“ You may very well say that, Aunt Ri,” laughed 
the Agent, complacently. “ It is the most troublesome 
Agency in the whole list, and the least satisfactory.” 

“Wall, I allow it mought be the least satisfying” 
rejoined the indefatigable Aunt Ri ; “but I donno 
whar the trouble comes in, ef so be ’s thar ’s no more 
kin be done than yer wuz er tellin’.” And she looked 
honestly puzzled. 

“Look there, Aunt Ri!” said he, triumphantly, 
pointing to a pile of books and papers. “All those 
to be gone through with, and a report to be made out 
every month, and a voucher to be sent for every lead- 
pencil I buy. I tell you I work harder than I ever 
did in my life before, and for less pay.” 

“I allow yer hev hed easy times afore, then,” 
retorted Aunt Ri, good-naturedly satirical, “ ef yeow 
air plum tired doin’ thet ! ” And she took her leave, 
not a whit clearer in her mind as to the real nature 
and function of the Indian Agency than she was in 
the beginning. 

Through all of Ramona’s journey home she seemed 
to herself to be in a dream. Her baby in her arms ; 
the faithful creatures, Baba and Benito, gayly trotting 
along at a pace so swift that the carriage seemed glid- 
ing; Felipe by her side, — the dear Felipe, — his eyes 
wearing the same bright and loving look as of old, — 
what strange thing was it which had happened to 
her to make it all seem unreal ? Even the little 
one in her arms, — she, too, seemed unreal ! Ramona 
did not know it, but her nerves were still partially 


478 


RAMONA. 


paralyzed. Nature sends merciful anaesthetics in 
the shocks which almost kill us. In the very sharp- 
ness of the blow sometimes lies its own first healing. 
It would be long before Eamona would fully realize 
that Alessandro was dead. Her worst anguish was 
yet to come. 

Felipe did not know and could not have understood 
this; and it was with a marvelling gratitude that 
he saw Eamona, day after day, placid, always ready 
with a smile when he spoke to her. Her gratitude 
for each thoughtfulness of his smote him like a re- 
proach ; all the more that he knew her gentle heart 
had never held a thought of reproach in it towards 
him. “ Grateful to me ! ” he thought. “ To me, who 
might have spared her all this woe if I had been 
strong ! ” 

Never would FeHpe forgive himself, — no, not to the 
day of his death. His whole life should be devoted 
to her and her child; hut what a pitiful thing was 
that to render ! 

As they drew near home, he saw Eamona often 
try to conceal from him that she had shed tears. 
At last he said to her: “Dearest Eamona, do not 
fear to weep before me. I would not be any con- 
straint on you. It is better for you to let 'the 
tears come freely, my sister. They are healing to 
wounds.” 

“ I do not think so, Felipe,” replied Eamona. 
“ Tears are only selfish and weak. They are like a 
cry because we are hurt. It is not possible always 
to keep them back; but I am ashamed-when I have 
wept, and think also that I have sinned, because I 
have given a sad sight to others. Father Salvierderra 
always said that it was a duty to look happy, no 
matter how much we might be suffering.” 

“ That is more than human power can do ! ” said 
Felipe. 


RAMONA. 


479 


“ I think not,” replied Eamona. “ If it were, Father 
Salvierderra would not have commanded it. And do 
you not recollect, Felipe, what a smile his face always 
wore ? and his heart had been broken for many, many 
years before he died. Alone, in the night, when he 
prayed, he used to weep, from the great wrestling he 
had with God, he told me ; but we never saw him 
except with a smile. When one thinks in the wil- 
derness, alone, Felipe, many things become clear. I 
have been learning, all these years in the wilderness, 
as if I had had a teacher. Sometimes I almost 
thought that the spirit of Father Salvierderra was by 
my side -putting thoughts into my mind. I hope 
I can tell them to my child when she is old enough. 
She will understand them quicker than I did, for 
she has Alessandro’s soul ; you can see that by her 
eyes. And all these things of which I speak were 
in his heart from his childhood. They belong to 
the air and the sky and the sun, and all trees know 
them.” 

When Eamona spoke thus of Alessandro, Felipe 
marvelled in silence. He himself had been afraid to 
mention Alessandro’s name ; but Eamona spoke it as 
if he were yet by her side. Felipe could not fathom 
this. There were to be many things yet which Felipe 
could not fathom in this lovely, sorrowing, sunny 
sister of his. 

When they reached the house, the servants, who 
had been on the watch for days, were all gathered 
in the court-yard, old Marda and Juan Can heading 
the group ; only two absent, — Margarita and Luigo. 
They had been married some months before, and 
were living at the Ortegas ranch, where Luigo, to 
Juan Can’s scornful amusement, had been made 
head shepherd. 

On all sides were beaming faces, smiles, and glad 
cries of greeting. Underneath these were affectionate 


480 


RAMONA. 


liearts quaking with fear lest the home-coming be but 
a sad one after all. Vaguely they knew a little of 
what their dear Sehorita had been through since she 
left them ; it seemed that she must b'b sadly altered 
by so much sorrow, and that it would be terrible 
to her to come back to the place so full of painful 
associations. “And the Senora gone, too,” said one 
of the outdoor hands, as they were talking it over ; 
“it ’s not the same place at all that it was when the 
Senora was here.” 

“ Humph !” muttered Juan Can, more consequential 
and overbearing than ever, for this year of absolute 
control of the estate. “ Humph I that ’s all you 
know. A good thing the Senora died when she 
did, I can tell you ! We ’d never have seen the 
Sehorita back here else ; I can tell you that, my 
man ! And for my part, I ’d much rather be under 
Senor Felipe and the Sehorita than under the Senora, 
peace to her ashes ! She had her day. They can 
have theirs now.” 

When these loving and excited retainers saw 
Ramona — pale, but with her own old smile on her 
face — coming towards them with her babe in her 
arms, they broke into wild cheering, and there was 
not a dry eye in the group. 

Singling out old Marda by a glance, Ramona held 
out the baby towards her, and said in her old 
gentle, affectionate voice, “ I am sure you will love 
my baby, Marda ! ” 

“ Sehorita ! Sehorita ! God bless you, Sehorita ! ” 
they cried; and closed up their ranks around the 
baby, touching her, praising her, handing her from 
one to another. 

Ramona stood for a few seconds watching them ; 
then she said, “ Give her to me, Marda. I will myself 
carry her into the house ; ” and she moved toward the 
inner door. 


RAM ON A. 


481 


“ This way, dear ; this way,” cried Felipe. “ It is 
Father Salvierderra’s room I ordered to be prepared 
for you, because it is so sunny for the baby ! ” 

“Thanks, kind Felipe!” cried Ramona, and her 
eyes said more than her words. She knew he had 
divined the one thing she had most dreaded in return- 
ing, — the crossing again the threshold of her own 
room. It would be long now before she would enter 
that room. Perhaps she would never enter it. How 
tender and wise of Felipe ! 

Yes; Felipe was both tender and wise, now. How 
long would the wisdom hold the tenderness in leash, as 
he day after day looked upon the face of this beauti- 
ful woman, — so much more beautiful now than she 
had been before her marriage, that Felipe sometimes, 
as he gazed at her, thought her changed even in 
feature ? But in this very change lay a spell which 
would for a long time surround her, and set her as 
apart from lover’s thoughts as if she were guarded by 
a cordon of viewless spirits. There was a rapt look 
of holy communion on her face, which made itself felt 
by the dullest perception, and sometimes overawed 
even where it attracted. It was the same thing 
which Aunt Ri had felt, and formulated in her own 
humorous fashion. But old Marda put it better, 
when, one day, in reply to a half-terrified, low-whis- 
pered suggestion of Juan Can, to the effect that 
it was “ a great pity the Senor Felipe had n’t married 
the Senorita years ago, — what if he were to do it 
yet?” she said, also under her breath. “It is my 
opinion he ’d as soon think of Saint Catharine her- 
self ! Not but that it would be a great thing if it 
could be!” 

And now the thing that the Senora had imaged to 
herself so often had come about, — the presence of a 
little child in her house, on the veranda, in the gar- 
den, everywhere; the sunny, joyous, blest presence. 

31 


482 


RAMONA. 


But how differently had it come ! Not Felipe’s child, 
as she proudly had pictured, but the child of Ra- 
mona : the friendless, banished Ramona returned now 
into full honor and peace as the daughter of the 
house, — Ramona, widow of Alessandro. If the child 
had been Felipe’s own, he could not have felt for it 
a greater love. From the first, the little thing had 
clung to him as only second to her mother. She 
slept hours in his arms, one little hand hid in his 
dark beard, close to his lips, and kissed again and 
again when no one saw. Next to Ramona herself 
in Felipe’s heart came Ramona’s child ; and on the 
child he could lavish the fondness he felt that he 
could never dare to show to the mother. Month by 
month it grew clearer to Felipe that the mainsprings 
of Ramona’s life were no longer of this earth ; that 
she walked as one in constant fellowship with one 
unseen. Her frequent and calm mention of Alessan' 
dro did not deceive him. It did not mean a lessen- 
ing grief: it meant an unchanged relation. 

One thing weighed heavily on Felipe’s mind, — the 
concealed treasure. A sense of humiliation with- 
held him, day after day, from speaking of it. But he 
could have no peace until Ramona knew it. Each 
hour that he delayed the revelation he felt himself 
almost as guilty as he had held his mother to be. At 
last he spoke. He had not said many words, before 
Ramona interrupted him. “ Oh, yes ! ” she said. “ I 
knew about those things ; your mother told me. 
When we were in such trouble, I used to wish some- 
times we could have had a few of the jewels. But 
they were all given to the Church. That was what 
the Senora Ortegna said must be done with them if I 
married against your mother’s wishes.” 

It was with a shame-stricken voice that Felipe 
replied: “Dear Ramona, they were not given to the 
Church. You know Father Salvierderra died; and 


RAMONA. 


483 


I suppose my mother did not know what to do with 
them. She told me about them just as she was dying.” 

“ But why did you not give them to the Church, 
dear ? ” asked Bamona, simply. 

“ Why ? ” cried Felipe. “ Because I hold them to 
be yours, and yours only. I would never have given 
them to the Church, until I had sure proof that you 
were dead and had left no children.” 

Ramona’s eyes were fixed earnestly on Felipe’s 
face. “ You have not read the Senora Ortegna’s let- 
ter ? ” she said. 

“ Yes, I have,” he replied, “ every word of it.” 

“ But that said I was not to have any of the things 
if I married against the Senora Moreno’s will.” 

Felipe groaned. Had his mother lied ? “Ho, dear,” 
he said, “that was not the word. It was, if you 
married unworthily.” 

Ramona reflected. “I never recollected the words,” 
she said. “ I was too frightened ; but I thought that 
was what it meant. I did not marry unworthily. Do 
you feel sure, Felipe, that it would be honest for me 
to take them for my child ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” said Felipe. 

“Do you think Father Salvierderra would say I 
ought to keep them ? ” 

“ I am sure of it, dear.” 

“I will think about it, Felipe. I cannot decide 
hastily. ' Your mother did not think I had any right 
to them, if I married Alessandro. That was why she 
showed them to me. I never knew of them till then. 
I took one thing, — a handkerchief of my father’s. 
I was very glad to have it ; but it got lost when we 
went from San Pasquale. Alessandro rode back a 
half-day’s journey to find it for me ; but it had blown 
away. I grieved sorely for it.” 

The next day Ramona said to Felipe : “ Dear 
Felipe, I have thought it all over about those 


484 


RAMONA. 


jewels. I believe it will be right for my daughter to 
have them. Can there be some kind of a paper 
written for me to sign, to say that if she dies they 
are all to be given to the Church, — to Father Sal- 
vierderra’s College, in Santa Barbara ? That is where 
I would rather have them go.” 

“Yes, dear,” said Felipe; “and then we will put 
them in some safer place. I will take them to Los 
Angeles when I go. It is wonderful no one has 
stolen them all these years ! ” 

And so a second time the Ortegna jewels were 
passed on, by a written bequest, into the keeping of 
that mysterious, certain, uncertain thing we call the 
future, and delude ourselves with the fancy that we 
can have much to do with its shaping. 

Life ran smoothly in the Moreno household, — 
smoothly to the eye. Nothing could be more peace- 
ful, fairer to see, than the routine of its days, 
with the simple pleasures, light tasks, and easy 
diligence of all. Summer and winter were alike 
sunny, and had each its own joys. There was not 
an antagonistic or jarring element ; and, flitting 
back and forth, from veranda to veranda, garden 
to garden, room to room, equally at home and 
equally welcome everywhere, there went perpetually, 
running, frisking, laughing, rejoicing, the little child 
that had so strangely drifted into this happy shel- 
ter, — the little Ramona. As unconscious of aught 
sad or fateful in her destiny as the blossoms with 
which it was her delight to play, she sometimes 
seemed to her mother to have been from the first in 
some mysterious way disconnected from it, removed, 
set free from all that could ever by any possibility 
link her to sorrow. 

Ramona herself bore no impress of sorrow ; rather 
her face had now an added radiance. There had 


RAMONA . 


485 


been a period, soon after her return, when she felt 
that she for the first time waked to the realization of 
her bereavement ; when every sight, sound, and place 
seemed to cry out, mocking her with the name and 
the memory of Alessandro. But she wrestled with this 
absorbing grief as with a sin ; setting her will stead- 
fastly to the purposes of each day’s duty, and, most of 
all, to the duty of joyfulness. She repeated to her- 
self Father Salvierderra’s sayings, till she more than 
knew them by heart; and she spent long hours of 
the night in prayer, as it had been his wont to do. 

No one but Felipe dreamed of these vigils and 
wrestlings. He knew them ; and he knew, too, when 
they ceased, and the new light of a new victory dif- 
fused itself over Ramona’s face : but neither did the 
first dishearten, nor the latter encourage him. Felipe 
was a clearer-sighted lover now than he had been in 
his earlier youth. He knew that into the world 
where Ramona really lived he did not so much as 
enter ; yet her every act, word, look, was full of lov- 
ing thoughtfulness of and for him, loving happiness 
in his companionship. And while this was so, all 
Felipe’s unrest could not make him unhappy. 

There were other causes entering into this unrest 
besides his yearning desire to win Ramona for his 
wife. Year by year the conditions of life in Cali- 
fornia were growing more distasteful to him. The 
methods, aims, standards of the fast incoming Ameri- 
cans were to him odious. Their boasted successes, 
the crowding of colonies, schemes of settlement and 
development, — all were disagreeable and irritating. 
The passion for money and reckless spending of it, 
the great fortunes made in one hour, thrown away in 
another, savored to Felipe's mind more of brigandage 
and gambling than of the occupations of gentlemen. 
He loathed them. Life under the new government 
grew more and more intolerable to him ; both his 


486 


RAMONA. 


hereditary instincts and prejudices, and his tempera- 
ment, revolted. He found himself more and more 
alone in the country. Even the Spanish tongue was 
less and less spoken. He was beginning to yearn for 
Mexico, — for Mexico, which he had never seen, yet 
yearned for like an exile. There he might yet live 
among men of his own race and degree, and of con- 
genial beliefs and occupations. Whenever he thought 
of this change, always came the quick memory of 
Ramona. Would she be willing to go ? Could it be 
that she felt a bond to this land, in which she had 
known nothing but suffering ? 

At last he asked her. To his unutterable surprise, 
Ramona cried : “Felipe! The saints be praised ! I 
should never have told you. I did not think that 
you could wish to leave this estate. But my most 
beautiful dream for Ramona would be, that she should 
grow up in Mexico.” 

And as she spoke, Felipe understood by a lightning 
intuition, and wondered that he had not foreknown 
it, that she would spare her daughter the burden she 
had gladly, heroically borne herself, in the bond of 
race. 

The question was settled. With gladness of 
heart almost more than he could have believed pos- 
sible, Felipe at once communicated with some rich 
American proprietors who had desired to buy the 
Moreno estate. Land in the valley had so greatly 
advanced in value, that the sum he received for it 
was larger than he had dared to hope ; was ample 
for the realization of all his plans for the new life in 
Mexico. From the hour that this was determined, 
and the time for their sailing fixed, a new expression 
came into Ramona’s face. Her imagination was kin- 
dled. An untried future beckoned, — a future which 
she would embrace and conquer for her daughter. 
Felipe saw the look, felt the change, and for the first 


RAMONA. 


487 


time hoped. It would be a new world, a new life ; 
why not a new love ? She could not always be blind 
to his devotion ; and when she saw it, could she refuse 
to reward it ? He would be very patient, and wait 
long, he thought. Surely, since he had been patient 
so long without hope, he could be still more patient 
now that hope had dawned! But patience is not 
hope’s province in breasts of lovers. From the day 
when Felipe first thought to himself, “She will yet 
be mine,” it grew harder, and not easier, for him to 
refrain from pouring out his love in words. Her 
tender sisterliness, which had been such balm and 
comfort to him, grew at times intolerable ; and again 
and again her gentle spirit was deeply disquieted 
with the fear that she had displeased him, so strangely 
did he conduct himself. 

He had resolved that nothing should tempt 
him to disclose to her his passion and its dreams, 
until they had reached their new home. But 
there came a moment which mastered him, and 
he spoke. 

It was in Monterey. They were to sail on the 
morrow, and had been on board the ship to complete 
the last arrangements. They were rowed back to 
shore in a little boat. A full moon shone. Ramona 
sat bareheaded in the end of the boat, and the silver 
radiance from the water seemed to float up around 
her, and invest her as with a myriad halos. Felipe 
gazed at her till his senses swam ; and when, on step- 
ping from the boat, she put her hand in his, and said, 
as she had said hundreds of times before, “ Dear 
Felipe, how good you are ! ” he clasped her hands 
wildly, and cried, “ Ramona, my love ! Oh, can you 
not love me ? ” 

The moonlight was bright as day. They were 
alone on the shore. Ramona gazed at him for one 
second, in surprise. Only for a second ; then she 


488 


RAMONA. 


knew all. “ Felipe ! My brother ! ” she cried, and 
stretched out her hands as if in warning. 

“ No ! 1 am not your brother ! ” he cjied. “ I will 
not be your brother ! I would rather die !” 

“ Felipe!” cried Ramona again. This time her 
voice recalled him to himself. It was a voice of 
terror and of pain. 

“ Forgive me, my sweet one ! ” he exclaimed. “ I 
will never say it again. But I have loved you so 
long — so long ! ” 

Ramona’s head had fallen forward on her breast, 
her eyes fixed on the shining sands ; the waves rose 
and fell, rose and fell, at her feet gently as sighs. 
A great revelation had come to Ramona. In this 
supreme moment of Felipe’s abandonment of all dis- 
guises, s]pe saw his whole past life in a new light. 
Remorse smote her. “Dear Felipe,” she said, clasp- 
ing her hands, “ I have been very selfish. I did not 
know — ” 

“ Of course you did not, love,” said Felipe. “How 
could you ? But I have never loved any one else. I 
have always loved you. Can you not learn to love 
me ? I did not mean to tell you for a long time 
yet. But now I have spoken ; I cannot hide it any 
more.” 

Ramona drew nearer to him, still with her hands 
clasped. “ I have always loved you,” she said. “ I love 
no other living man ; but, Felipe,” — her voice sank 
to a solemn whisper, — “do you not know, Felipe, 
that part of me is dead, — dead? can never live 
again ? You could not want me for your wife, Felipe, 
when part of me is dead ! ” 

Felipe threw his arms around her. He was beside 
himself with joy. “ You would not say that if you 
did not think you could be my wife,” he cried. “ Only 
give yourself to me, my love, I care not whether you 
call yourself dead or aiive ! ” 


RAMONA. 


489 


Ramona stood quietly in his arms. Ah, well for 
Felipe that he did not know, never could know, the 
Ramona that Alessandro had known. This gentle, 
faithful, grateful Ramona, asking herself fervently 
now if she would do her brother a wrong, yielding up 
to him what seemed to her only the broken frag- 
ment of a life ; weighing his wmrds, not in the light 
of passion, but of calmest, most unselfish affection, 
— ah, how unlike was she to that Ramona who flung 
herself on Alessandro’s breast, crying, “ Take me with 
you ! I would rather die than have you leave me ! ” 

Ramona had spoken truth. Part of her was dead. 
But Ramona saw now, with infallible intuition, that 
even as she had loved Alessandro, so Felipe loved 
her. Could she refuse to give Felipe happiness, 
when he had saved her, saved her child ? What else 
now remained for them, these words having been 
spoken ? “ I will be your wife, dear Felipe,” she 
said, speaking solemnly, slowly, “ if you are sure it 
will make you happy, and if you think it is right.” 

“ Right ! ” ejaculated Felipe, mad with the joy un- 
looked for so soon. “ Nothing else would be right ! 
My Ramona, I will love you so, you will forget you 
ever said that part of you was dead ! ” 

A strange look which startled Felipe swept across 
Ramona’s face; it might have been a moonbeam. 
It passed. Felipe never saw it again. 

General Moreno’s name was still held in warm re- 
membrance in the city of Mexico, and Felipe found 
himself at once among friends. On the day after 
their arrival he and Ramona were married in the 
cathedral, old Marda and Juan Can, with his crutches, 
kneeling in proud joy behind them. The story of the 
romance of their lives, being widely rumored, greatly 
enhanced the interest with which they were wel- 
comed. The beautiful young Senora Moreno was 
the theme of the city; and Felipe’s bosom thrilled 


490 


RAMONA. 


with pride to see the gentle dignity of demeanor by 
which she was distinguished in all assemblages. It 
was indeed a new world, a new life. Ramona might 
well doubt her own identity. But undying memories 
stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes 
of doves, calling to each other, fell on her ear, her 
eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voice saying, 
“ Majella ! ” This was the only secret her loyal, loving 
heart had kept from Felipe. A loyal, loving heart 
indeed it was, — loyal, loving, serene. Few husbands 
so blest as the Sehor Felipe Moreno. 

Sons and daughters came to bear his name. The 
daughters were all beautiful ; but the most beautiful 
of them all, and, it was said, the most beloved by 
both father and mother, was the eldest one : the one 
who bore the mother’s name, and was only step- 
daughter to the Sen or, — Ramona, — Ramona, daugh- 
ter of Alessandro the Indian. 


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